


What Rough Beast

by quercus



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Egypt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-25
Updated: 2002-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26053204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quercus/pseuds/quercus
Summary: At General Hammond's request, Daniel returns to Egypt to investigate a mystery.
Relationships: Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	What Rough Beast

"He who hath not seen Cairo hath not seen the world. Her soil is gold; her Nile is a marvel; her women are like the black-eyed virgins of Paradise; her houses are palaces; and her air is soft, as sweet-smelling as aloe-wood, rejoicing the heart. And how can Cairo be otherwise, when she is Mother of the World?"  
\-- _The Arabian Nights_

~ ~ ~

"Thank you for seeing me, General Hammond." 

"Not at all, Doctor Jackson. Have a seat. I see you already have coffee. Now, how can I help you?" 

"Well." Daniel bit his lip, and then said, "I've been following a story, or stories, maybe, from various papers I read. You know I have a number of newspapers delivered here." 

The general smiled at him. "I certainly do. I've been asked to justify some of them to the NID." Daniel was horrified, but the general held up his hand. "Now, not to worry, Doctor. They don't really think you're a terrorist just because you can read Arabic." 

"Oh. That's good. I guess." Hammond raised his eyebrows, and Daniel recognized it as the signal it was. "Well, anyway, as I said, I've been following a story for a few months, and I'm starting to get concerned." 

Hammond leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "What is it?" 

Daniel pushed the newspaper toward the general. "Here, just outside Giza, not far from Cairo, there have been a series of, um, mutilations. People killed. I think rather a lot, although it's hard to tell." The paper was _Le Monde_ , and he didn't think the general could read French, but he had turned it to an inner page, below the fold, where there was a tiny, grainy photograph of a group of people wailing at the loss of a loved one. No accompanying article; just the caption beneath the picture. 

"Why do you think the SGC should be concerned, Doctor?" 

"Well, I'm not sure it should be. But the nature of the killings, the kind of mutilation -- I think there's some chance --" 

"That it's a Goa'uld? Here on earth?" 

He nodded miserably, watching the general's eyes flick over the newspaper. Perhaps he did read French. 

At last the general sat back, a frown creasing his kind face. "What is your suggestion?" 

"I don't really have one, sir. I thought you might. I just wanted to bring this to your attention." 

"Do you know anyone in the area?" 

"Well. Yes." Daniel thought for a moment. "Some friends of my parents. A teacher I had at UCLA who retired to Cairo." 

Hammond nodded thoughtfully. "Would you write this up for me? Nothing lengthy. But email your concerns, and why you think there's some chance there's a Goa'uld on earth." 

"Of course. I'll do it right away." 

"Thank you, son." The general smiled at him, and he couldn't help but smile back. "I'll look forward to reading your report." 

"Thank you." Daniel left the general's office feeling better than he had in some days. Well, he'd done it. Passed along his concerns to someone who could do something about them. He'd done his duty. 

He hurried back to his office to organize his notes into something he could send to General Hammond, something he could use as the basis of a request for an investigation. He wondered who would be sent to investigate -- surely the military had contacts in Cairo. 

Daniel found Jack loitering outside his office, although he knew Jack would never admit to loitering. "Hey," Jack said, smiling with what looked like relief at Daniel. 

"Hey. What's up?" 

"Oh. Just wanted some coffee." 

"I can offer you a cup." 

"I was countin' on it." 

Daniel unlocked his office door and they stepped inside. "I'll fix some fresh; this has been sitting since I got in." 

Jack settled in a chair opposite the desk Daniel used, fitting in as if he carried his own world with him. Which he kind of did, Daniel thought, eyeing him sprawling out. He knew he shared that with Jack: they carried their worlds with them. For Daniel, the ability had grown out of the loss of his family and his constant travels; he assumed the same for Jack. It was one more thing they shared, and he liked that. 

"Where ya been?" 

"I saw General Hammond. I'll send you a copy of the report I'm writing him." 

"SG-1 stuff?" 

"No. Probably not." 

"Very mysterious." 

Daniel smiled as he spooned coffee into the filter. "Two, three, four," he said, and then looked up. "When was the last time you were in Egypt?" 

As he'd hoped, Jack looked surprised. "Jesus, I don't know. Years ago. I was just a kid. R and R. Stayed at a cheesy dump and, well, uh . . . " 

"You bad boy." 

"Heh. The baddest." They grinned at each other, but Daniel didn't push for details and Jack didn't offer. Daniel plunked down at his desk to wait for the coffee to finish dripping. "Really, what is it, Daniel?" Jack asked. Again, Daniel handed the folded and battered copy of _Le Monde_ across a desk. "Uh, you know I don't read much French." 

"Yeah. Fortunately for you, I do. This picture and its caption is all there is, though." 

"People in mourning." 

"Yeah. A couple months ago, I realized I'd been seeing a lot of these, in different papers. Just tiny notices. This is the first picture I've seen published, though." 

Jack looked at him, his brow furrowed in concern. "I don't get it. I mean, I'm sorry this kid is dead --" 

"He was mutilated, Jack. A little boy, only five years old. His body torn and --" 

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Daniel shut up quickly, suddenly remember that the death of a child, as horrific as it was, carried terrible significance for Jack. 

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, and Jack nodded, and sighed. 

"Is it just kids that are, uh, killed?" 

Daniel shook his head. "I don't think so. I've been trying to piece all this together. The commonality seems to be mutilation. Dismemberment, really. So far, mostly of very poor people, and mostly younger people. But there may be others. We're so far away. Only the most, um, newsworthy get picked up by the wire services." 

"Vultures," Jack muttered, and Daniel agreed. "What do you think it is?" Daniel just stared at Jack, who eventually nodded. "It's probably nothing," he said, but Daniel could tell he didn't believe that. "Hey, coffee's ready." 

Daniel jumped up to pour them each mugs, and Jack began to tell him about a hockey game he'd seen last year, and how he wished hockey season were here, and how he'd take Daniel to see a hockey game one day. Daniel smiled into his coffee and listened attentively. 

Nearly a week later, Daniel looked up from his work to find General Hammond standing at the door to his office. He looked around and for a moment saw it from the general's eyes: messy with stacks of books, paper everywhere, a whiteboard covered with scribbles of Goa'uld and Latin and ancient Egyptian, and filled with the smell of coffee. He was embarrassed, but only briefly. This was who he was, and the general had never shown him anything but respect. It must be enough; it must be okay. 

"Please, General," he said, standing, "have a seat. What can I do for you?" 

Hammond took his time, seating himself carefully, not sprawling out the way Jack did, or perching delicately the way Sam did, or standing at attention the way Teal'c did. Daniel saw that he was getting older, and a flush of fear went through him: What would happen to the SGC when Hammond finally retired? What would happen to SG-1, and to him? 

At last, Hammond looked at him. "I read your report, Doctor Jackson," he began, "and I forwarded it to my superiors. Like you, they are interested. Like you, they are concerned that the mutilations might be the act of a Goa'uld. 

"Have you given this any more thought? Do you have an idea who it might be?" 

"No, sir. I mean, yes, I've thought about it, but I don't see a pattern that reminds me of any Egyptian gods. They were, on the whole, a pretty blood-thirsty lot, but this is different." 

Hammond nodded. "Doctor Jackson, these terrible things have been going on for longer than you realized. When I forwarded your report, someone was assigned to do more research. They appear to have been taking place for many years. As far back as they could find." 

He was silent, gazing at Daniel. "Then it is a Goa'uld." 

"I think it likely." 

A Goa'uld on earth. The thought was unsupportable. Daniel's stomach clenched with fear and disgust. That those monsters should inhabit his world revolted him. They were parasites, in all meanings of the word, and he despised them and everything they had ever done to the people of earth. "What will happen now?" 

"Well, that depends." Hammond looked into Daniel's face as if he were looking into his heart. "You know the country there. You have contacts there, friends, you say. And you care." 

"You want me to go to Egypt and investigate the killings?" 

Hammond nodded, and remained silent. 

Daniel thought about this. The general rarely ordered him to do anything; he seemed to prefer to request Daniel's assistance. That was, Daniel admitted to himself, a wise move; he almost always did what Hammond asked as a result. He had a lot of respect for the general. He nodded. "Of course I'll go." 

"You won't have any official backing," Hammond warned him, but Daniel had expected that. As far as the rest of the world knew, the SGC didn't exist. Of course it couldn't come to his rescue, should he need rescuing. 

"I know, sir. I've managed in the past, though, and I think I can manage now." 

The general smiled at him. "I think so, too." 

"I'll have to have some kind of cover story, though. Where I've been, why I'm there." 

"Let me know what you need. I'll do what I can for you, son." 

"Thank you." 

The general levered himself to his feet, and Daniel saw again that his age was catching up to him. Didn't they force retirement on people in the military? How much longer would he be permitted to reign over this little fiefdom? 

And what will I do without you? he thought sadly, as the general left his office. 

Within a few hours, Jack was sitting in the same chair, not sprawling this time, looking tense and apprehensive. "Got a plan yet?" 

"Not really. Just go there and ask around." 

Jack rubbed his mouth. "Not a very good plan." 

"Do you have a better one?" 

They stared at each other. "No. But I will. Sit down, Daniel, and let's talk about a cover story." 

"Cover story? Jack --" He looked at his friend. He'd assumed he'd be traveling alone, but -- "Are you coming with me?" 

"Do you really think we'd send you out there alone?" 

They stared at each other, and then Daniel smiled. "Why would a discredited archaeologist be traveling with an Air Force colonel?" 

"Well, he probably wouldn't. But he might be traveling with a historian." 

Daniel raised his eyebrows, but saw that Jack was serious. "A military historian?" 

He shrugged. "History's history. I can fake it enough for a meeting or two. I'm the shy, retiring type, you know. Hardly say a word. Not a peep." 

Daniel rolled his eyes, but an enormous weight had been lifted from him. Jack would be coming. He couldn't help smiling fondly at Jack at the news. 

"Hammond says you have friends in Cairo. Archaeologists?" 

"Some of them. One taught English literature at the American University there. One couple were friends of my, my parents." 

Jack nodded. "Won't they think it a bit weird, for you to turn up suddenly? I mean, you've kinda disappeared from the scene." 

"Yeah, I know. I'm not sure what excuse to give them." He rubbed at his eye. "Hammond emailed me a list of the, the, uh, killings. It goes back a long time, so some of the information's probably pretty bad, but I mapped out where the killings occurred." 

He spread out a photocopy of a map of the area around Cairo. "You can see there's a pattern. I color-coded them by decade; see how the colors cluster together?" 

Jack peered at the map, then touched it with his forefinger. "Giza Plateau," he read, and looked up at Daniel. 

"Yeah. That's why I noticed it." 

"Wow." He tapped his fingers on the map; it rustled beneath them. "I don't like this." 

"Me, neither." They looked at each other over their coffee; Jack nodded and looked back at the map. 

Hammond had meant it when he'd said he'd do what he could for Daniel. For one thing, he had access to military transport. For another, he was given a generous traveling allowance. And for a third, Hammond gave him the name of an old friend of his who worked at the British Embassy. "Go to him if you run into any problems. Tell him you're my nephew." Daniel was pleased and embarrassed by this favor. "Send him my best." 

"I will, sir," he promised. 

"Uncle George," the general reminded him. 

"Uh, yessir, Uncle George." 

SG-1 met at Jack's for dinner a few nights before Daniel and Jack were to leave. Sam and Teal'c had been temporarily reassigned to other SG teams while they were gone, but Daniel made sure they knew where he and Jack would be. "We'll send postcards," Jack said flippantly, but Daniel promised, "We'll keep in touch by email." 

"We will be ready to assist you at a moment's notice," Teal'c assured them, and Daniel smiled. 

"Really, Daniel. You know we'll fly out there." 

"I know. Thank you both." 

"You will take care of Daniel Jackson," Teal'c added, and Daniel felt himself blushing. Before he could remind Teal'c that he could take care of himself, Jack was nodding. 

When he finally reached home that night, instead of going to bed, he sat in his living room surrounded by books and maps of Egypt. Egypt! He was going home. His heart longed to return, as if he would magically be reunited with his parents, on the digs he treasured as his earliest memories. The heat, the quality of the light, the bubbling language, the feel of the sand beneath his sandaled feet -- his body ached to recapture those visceral memories. He'd gone only once, in all the years since he'd left academia, or it had discarded him, and joined the SGC: when Sarah had been taken by Osiris. 

But this time, to travel leisurely, and with Jack -- his anticipatory pleasure was nearly unbearable, and he felt like a kid again, with nothing but delightful surprises waiting for him. Each day a gift to slowly unwrap and savor. 

He shook his head, smiling to himself, as he peered at a detailed map of Cairo. It had changed so much in the years he'd been away. He remembered flying into it a couple years ago, stunned at its sprawl. He had a treat for Jack, too; they were going to stay at the Mena House, one of the oldest and most luxurious hotels in Cairo. He'd visited there several times as a child, and had eaten at the Kahn El Khalili Brasserie once as a student assistant. The hotel was over a hundred years old, with a view of the Giza pyramids, and forty acres of beautifully tended gardens, and he knew Jack would love the golf course. 

He'd arranged for them to stay in one of the Garden suites. The expense was astounding, but the travel allowance he'd been given was more than adequate. Daniel knew the general's generosity was a gift to him, and he was very grateful. And he hoped he'd come back with information useful to the SGC, as partial repayment. 

He leaned back, resting his head against the back of his couch. If he didn't go to bed soon, he'd fall asleep here and wake up stiff and cranky. But he continued to hold the map in his hand, the crinkling paper an odd comfort to him, in a comfortless time. 

He woke up, as he'd known he would, cramped, his mouth parched, the map at his feet. Shit. He really needed to get to bed. The blue glow of the microwave's clock told him it was two-fifteen; he still had a few hours left to sleep. He folded the map up carefully and tucked it into his most recent journal, the one he'd take with him to Cairo. Lots of work left to get ready, including going over the report General Hammond had given him, tracing back the decades of death on the Giza Plateau. 

But not tonight. He wanted sweet dreams tonight, not images of the Giza killings. So he put the notes next to his journal, and left them for the safer light of morning. 

And, he admitted to himself, left them for Jack. He would help, too. 

"Gruesome Giza, hunh," Jack greeted him when Daniel bumped into him in the commissary the next day. Jack was eating donuts and coffee while reading the general's report, which made Daniel swallow hard and return the cheese danish he'd selected. 

"Maybe just some oatmeal," he told the server, who shrugged and spooned him up a bowl. "Good morning, Jack." 

"Mornin'. You read this shit? Man, it's nasty." 

"Um. Yes, I have. What do you think's going on there?" 

"Not a detective. But you're right. Something's been happening there for a long time." 

Daniel nodded and took a mouthful of the oatmeal. Not too bad. "Yeah. I suppose we're only noticing it now because of the ease with which news is communicated. Even a dozen years ago, I couldn't get _El Wafd_ with any regularity." 

"And oh, how I missed _El Wafd_." 

Daniel ignored him. "I wonder what the Egyptian police have made of this? I don't know anybody to ask; do you think General Hammond would? Or maybe we should try one of the embassies in Cairo." 

"One of them? What's wrong with the good old U. S. of A.'s embassy?" 

"Well." Daniel felt himself blushing a bit. "I had a little embarrassment with them once. Years ago." 

Jack set down his donut and leaned forward. "Not in the security check, Daniel. 'Fess up to Uncle Jack." 

"Uncle Jack is too nosy for his own good." 

"Daniel." 

He grinned. "Well, really. I was there as a student and um. Well. I'd gone to this nightclub -- disco, they used to call them, remember? Anyway, I got mugged and my wallet and passport were stolen. So I had to go to the embassy and get a new one issued. They gave me some money, and helped me get a ticket back to the States." He shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just -- embarrassing." 

"Ah, youth," Jack said fondly, and returned his attention to the donut. 

"Maybe the British Embassy," Daniel murmured, and jotted a note into his journal. He'd written the name and number of Hammond's friend there; he'd invite him to dinner and perhaps ask him then. 

They left two days later. Sam hugged Daniel tightly, kissing his cheek, and he felt his throat close with the strength of his feelings for her. He didn't want to say goodbye to any of his SGC friends -- they were all he had for family now, except for Kasuf and Skaare, so far away. Teal'c bowed deeply before him, and clasped his shoulder so firmly he had to brace himself against the weight of it, but he smiled up into Teal'c's face, and patted his arm in return. 

Hammond took him aside and lightly touched Daniel's shoulder. "Watch out for yourself, son, and for Colonel O'Neill. You'll be far from home, and we'll be worried." 

Daniel was so moved by the general's words that for a few seconds he couldn't speak. So far from home -- not compared to stepping through the stargate, of course, but Daniel knew what he meant. Out there, beyond the gate, other SG teams could come to their rescue. Here, on earth, he and Jack would be on their own. 

At last he said, "Thank you, sir. I will. I'll take as much care of him as he'll let me." The general smiled sadly at him, and then saluted Jack, who sprang into a snappy salute very unlike the Jack that Daniel knew so well. Sam saluted, too, and the others around them, and then he and Jack turned and walked into the elevator that would take them away from their friends. 

Jack had told him that, as the crow flies, it was nearly seven thousand miles from Colorado Springs to Cairo. As the crow flies, but of course, military transports weren't crows, so it was actually a lot longer. First to Chicago, then to Newfoundland, then to Ireland, then to Germany and only then to Cairo. By the time they'd set down, they'd switched planes three times and two days had passed. He was dirty, tired, a little air sick, and more than ready for bed. 

The heat and noise of Cairo nearly undid him. He stood outside the airport, people of all nationalities swarming around him, and simply swam in the languages floating to him: Arabic, British English, American English, French, German, and others he was too tired to try to identify. He squinted into the brilliant sunshine; it was only mid-morning, but already it was in the eighties, and he began to sweat. 

"Taxi!" Jack roared, sticking out his hand as if he were in Chicago, and miraculously a taxi appeared. It was dirty and ramshackle, but licensed, and the little man driving it very helpful with his broken English and cheerful assistance. "Come on," Jack nudged him, and his trance was broken. 

He was in Egypt again. 

He negotiated a price before they climbed into the taxi, Jack waiting impatiently for the transaction to be over. As Daniel spoke, his Arabic flooded back, until he was cursing as volubly as the driver, and they cheerfully concluded their negotiations at what Daniel considered a fair price but the driver thought was highway robbery. 

The streets were just as crammed with people and cars and donkeys and even camels as he'd remembered from when he was a little boy. Eternal Cairo, Jewel of the Nile, Mother of the World, he thought, and smiled at Jack, who was clutching the seatback ahead of them. The windows were rolled down and the smells roiling in were as evocative as his mother's perfume: gasoline, dung, dust, salt air, and the scent of the desert itself, something he described to himself as the promise of water. 

It wasn't far to the Mena House, and the chaos of the city crowded right up against the regal gates to the hotel, but once inside, it was as though they'd gated to another world. The trees and shrubbery blocked most of the noise, and the grass had been watered and rolled for over a century, so the air smelled sweet and fresh. Ponds and small waterfalls glittered everywhere, and an enormous fountain splashed at the main entrance. 

"We are here," the driver told them unnecessarily, beaming at them as he jumped out to seize their luggage. 

Daniel turned to Jack. "We are here," he repeated, smiling helplessly. Jack shook his head, but he, too, smiled as he climbed out of the dusty taxi. Daniel admired his long-legged grace for a moment before opening his own door and following the driver and Jack into the magnificent lobby. 

It was even quieter inside, the quiet of moneyed confidence. Teak counters and marble walls gleamed in the gentle light falling through the heavily draped windows, richly colored rugs were soft under his tired feet, and the staff rushed to assist them. "Jackson," Daniel told them, and let them take care of him. They were escorted down long hallways with arching ceilings, through another garden, this one scented by jasmine, and then into their suite. 

"Holy shit," Jack murmured, and if Daniel weren't so tired, he would've agreed. As it was, he simply handed the bellman some money, staggered into one of the bedrooms and collapsed onto the bed. "Danny?" he heard Jack say, and he took Jack's voice with him into his dreams. 

Night had settled in when Daniel finally woke. He was groggy, and his mouth gummy and dry, but he felt much better than when he'd fallen asleep. Someone, no doubt Jack, had draped a light blanket over him, and he realized how air conditioned the room was. Except for the decor, he might as well be in New York. 

He rose, stretching and wiping his eyes, went to the french doors leading to the balcony, and opened them. The night smelt of jasmine and a hundred more odors, a rich stew of memories. It was still warm out, in the upper seventies at least, and the air as motionless as death. He walked to the balcony's railings and leaned over, looking out at the grounds. A fountain directly below him pattered quietly, and the sound of people talking, distant music, and the far-off noise of traffic drifted up to him. 

"Hey." He turned to find Jack leaning against the frame of the open doors. 

"Hey." 

"Slept a long time." 

"Yeah. Sorry." 

"I did, too." He walked out onto the balcony and stood next to Daniel, surveying the property beneath them. "This is -- beautiful," he said, and Daniel nodded. He looked at Daniel. "Beautiful." 

For a moment, Daniel thought Jack meant _he_ was beautiful, and he felt himself blushing under Jack's scrutiny. Then he shrugged. "My parents brought me here when I was a little kid. We didn't stay here, of course, but they'd meet visiting archaeologists, and people who helped pay for the digs." 

"So you have good memories of this place." 

"Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah." He stared outwards again, and then realized -- "Look, Jack." He pointed, and Jack looked out, too. 

"Jesus. Is that what I think it is?" 

"If you think it's the Great Pyramid, you're right." 

There it stood, as fundamental as air or earth, utterly isolated even in the midst of the enormous city that had grown around it. Daniel felt his heart lift at the sight. It called to him, in his parents' voices, and he smiled to himself. 

"Jesus," Jack said again, softly. Daniel turned to watch him as he studied the dim outline of the enormous structure. "Can we go there tomorrow?" 

"Of course. When is tomorrow, anyway?" 

Jack glanced at his chronometer. "Um, it's actually only around ten. But I think I could sleep some more." 

"Me, too, but I really need a shower, and then something to eat." 

"Yeah, you kinda puked up your last meal." 

"Thank you so much for the memory." 

"You are so easy," Jack said, and nudged him with his elbow before returning indoors. "Come on, come on. You're lettin' out all the cold air." 

"Cold air is right. What've you got the thermostat set at, anyway? Freezing? We're in Egypt, not Minnesota." 

"Did you know we each have our own bathroom?" Jack diverted his attention successfully; he realized he really needed to pee. "And wait till you see them. Phones, TVs, and a bathtub like a swimming pool." 

"That's for me. Bye, Jack." 

"Bye, Daniel. Come get me when you're ready for dinner; some of the restaurants are open all night in this place." 

"Can you wait an hour?" 

"Not a prob." 

Daniel stood in the door to the enormous bathroom and looked around with satisfaction. This was one of the main reasons he'd wanted to stay at the Mena. This, and showing Jack a good time. 

He felt much better when he found Jack in the main room of their suite, sprawled in a large wicker chair, reading a two-day old _Guardian_. "Ready?" 

"Oh, yeah. Any idea where to go?" 

"I think the Greenery is still open, and it's right here." 

"Not a vegetarian restaurant?" 

"No, Jack. I would never put you through that." 

They strolled through the grounds, the noises of other guests growing louder as they approached the restaurant. He wanted to bring Jack here because it had an excellent view of the pyramids. The maitre d' found a table for them, a bit out of the way and so a bit quieter, which suited Daniel very much. He ordered them champagne, enjoying the surprise on Jack's face when he did and hoping he didn't find out how extravagant a purchase it was in Egypt. 

"Special occasion?" 

"I think so. Being here. Being back in Egypt." 

"Kind of coming home for you?" 

Daniel nodded. "Yeah. Very much so, in fact." He studied Jack. The table had a small candle in a pretty wrought-iron holder; its light flickered over Jack's handsome face. He looked tired but at peace. Someone who'd gone through so much, but come out the other side. "Plus." Daniel paused. Jack didn't do sappy very well, but, fuck it. He wanted to say this. "Plus I'm happy to be here with you." He dropped his eyes but took a deep breath and looked up. 

Jack was smiling at him almost shyly. Just then the waiter brought their champagne and poured a foaming glassful for each of them, then left it in a silver bucket draped with a maroon napkin. Jack lifted his glass. "Thank you, Danny," he said. Daniel reached over and gently touched his glass to Jack's. 

The champagne was delicious, like drinking kisses. He quickly downed the first glass and poured more for both of them. "It's good," he explained to Jack, who only smiled indulgently. He wondered if he looked as wasted as Jack did. Maybe drinking on top of jet lag and nausea wasn't a great idea, but he still wanted this moment. 

"Food," Jack said after the second glass, and Daniel ordered for them both. By the time they'd eaten, he knew he needed to go back to bed, and soon, or his face would be on the table. They helped each other up, and wandered around the grounds again, trying to figure out where their suite was, before Daniel spotted the little fountain beneath their balcony. 

"Here," he pointed, and they walked over to it. There were low benches circling it, and they sat, slumped against each other, listening to the water splashing lightly. Daniel took a deep breath of the jasmine-scented air again, and sighed. "My mother wore jasmine perfume," he told Jack, who rubbed the back of Daniel's neck. 

"Is it hard to be here?" 

Daniel was stunned at Jack's question. A little more sensitive than he was used to. He felt his nose stuff up and his eyes prickle. Shit. "A little," he whispered, and Jack's hand settled, warm, on the nape of his neck. 

"Time for bed, Danny," he said, and for an instant he heard his father's voice. He'd been here, at the Mena, with his parents, visiting some friends from England, and had fallen asleep in his mother's lap. "Time for bed, Danny," his dad had said, and then picked him up and carried him to the waiting taxi and held him in his lap all the way home. 

Daniel sniffed sloppily. "Yeah," he agreed, and they rose to find their way upstairs and into their rooms. "Good night," he told Jack, standing for a moment in the door into his bedroom. Jack had already hung up his clothes; the closet door stood half-open, and Daniel could see his shirts hanging neatly up. 

"Night, Daniel." 

He went to bed and fell into a dreamless sleep that lasted nearly ten hours. 

They decided to postpone their visit to the pyramids for a day or so, and get a bit more settled in. Daniel made a few calls and discovered that a few old friends were here, including a couple who'd known his parents since they had first come to Egypt as students. "Dallie and Bobbie," Jack repeated disbelievingly. 

"Dallie is short for Dalhousie." 

"Dalhousie." 

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure it was her mother's maiden name." 

"Dalhousie is a she." 

"Well, actually. Um, Jack. Dalhousie and Bobbie are both she's." 

"Oh, god. They're elderly lesbians. With walking sticks and short blue hair and stockings rolled to their knees." 

"Is that a problem?" 

"You mean they really _are_?" 

"Is that a problem?" 

"Uh. No. No, of course not. Why would it be?" 

Daniel narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Jack, but his face was neutral, maybe even slightly interested. "You don't have to come with me." 

"Yes, I do," he answered firmly, and Daniel smiled. 

"Yes, you do," he agreed. "And I really want to see them again. They're part of my earliest memories." 

"Then I want to meet them," Jack said kindly, and Daniel thought he meant it. 

Bobbie was thrilled to hear his voice when he called to set up a time to visit them. "Oh, my dear boy, you must come over immediately! Oh, your sainted mother was such a good friend to us, and your father -- well, there are no words. You come straight over." She gave him directions and again instructed him to come right away. "No standing on ceremony, young Danny," she said, and he smiled in pleasant memory. 

"They want us to come right over," he told Jack, who was lying on the bed eavesdropping shamelessly to his telephone conversation with Bobbie. He sat up. 

"We'll take 'em to dinner." 

"Good. I'd like that. They were very kind to me when I was little." 

Bobbie and Dallie lived near The City of the Dead, which creeped Jack out, or so he told Daniel, but fortunately, they didn't have to enter it. The day was still as hot as an oven, and both men wore light cotton shirts that flapped in the breeze through the taxi's open windows. They were crisp when they'd dressed at the Mena House, but damp and creased by the time they reached Bobbie and Dallie's home. 

This turned out to be a modest apartment on the third floor of a building without any elevators. The stairwell was clean, though, and freshly painted in an abstract design of stripes that led the eye upwards. At last, the two men stood before the door. Retucking his shirt in and running his fingers through his hair, Daniel glanced nervously at Jack, who caught his eye and said, "You look fine." Daniel knocked, and almost instantly, the door was opened. 

"Oh, Danny!" Bobbie cried, and he was shocked to find her seated in a wheelchair. He knelt next to one of the wheels and took her hand, the skin as folded and fragile as ancient parchment. 

"Hello, Aunt Bobbie. I'm so glad to see you again." 

Tears filled her eyes. "You're all grown up," she whispered, and slid her arms around his neck. "Oh, dearest Danny, you've grown up into a man." She pulled away to see him better, peering at him through her glasses' thick lenses. "You look just like your sainted mother." 

Daniel dropped his head; the words fell on him almost painfully. So few people were left in the world who would notice the resemblance between him and his mom. "Thank you," he said when he'd composed himself. "That's a compliment; I always thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world." 

"So did I," Dallie said, and he looked over Bobbie's shoulder to see a much diminished version of his old friend. She was still smoking, though, an Egyptian cigarette turning the air around her as blue as the virgin's mantle. 

"Auntie Dalhousie," he said, falling back into childhood expressions without thought. She smiled and held out her arms, cigarette wreathing smoke around them as she swung her arm back. She was softer than he remembered; she'd been unusually muscled for a woman, or so he had thought as a little boy when she used to toss him high into the air and catch him safely, safely, and though she was still nearly as tall as he was, she now stooped a bit. 

"And who's this handsome lad?" she asked when he'd stepped back, still holding her hand. 

"Oh, Bobbie, Dallie, this is my friend Jack O'Neill. Jack, this is Doctor Roberta Stannard and Doctor Dalhousie Dorothy Bertrand." 

"Doctors of archaeology?" Jack asked, shaking hands with each of them. 

"I am," Dallie told him, and Daniel felt himself blush at how blatantly she eyed Jack. "Bobbie's a medical doctor. Or was, weren't you, you old quack?" 

"Quack," Bobbie agreed complacently; when Dallie rested a hand on her fragile shoulder, she put her own trembling one on top. 

"She took care of young Danny many times. Let's see: measles, chickenpox, strep throat, several ear infections . . . " 

"Dallie!" Daniel and Bobbie said at the same moment, but Jack laughed. 

"Too bad she didn't take out his appendix. Spoiled a great vacation." 

"Darling!" Bobbie said, looking so concerned that Daniel knelt again by her side. 

"I'm fine," he promised her, and she gently stroked his face. "It only spoiled Jack's vacation; I didn't want to go fishing anyway." 

"Wheel yourself out of the way, darling," Dallie said, "and let these boys in. What's your poison?" 

"What have you got?" Jack asked, waiting for Daniel to finish fussing with the wheel locks so he could maneuver Bobbie around and follow Dallie. 

"There you go, sweetie," Daniel said, and kissed her cheek as he stood. The men each took a handle and swung her carefully around while she shrieked in pretended fright, Dallie watching approvingly. Daniel had never visited them in this apartment before, but he recognized many beloved artifacts as they rolled Bobbie into the next room. 

"Look what we have for you," Bobbie said, pointing toward the coffee table. On top was a battered cardboard box. Jack rolled Bobbie next to it and locked the wheels again, and Daniel watched him follow Dallie to a well-stocked bar. He turned his attention back to Bobbie, who was smiling up at him, tears in her grey eyes. "You found a good 'un, ey, young Danny?" 

He glanced nervously over his shoulder at Jack, who seemed entranced by Dallie's litany of liqueurs. "I think so," he said. "Now, can I look in the box, or is it a secret?" She gestured at it, so he bent over and peered inside it. 

He found a dozen or so much-handled wooden blocks of all shapes and sizes. He picked one up and instantly recalled sitting on the very rug beneath his feet, playing with the blocks while his mom and dad talked with Aunt Bobbie and Auntie Dalhousie. He could almost remember the subject -- the Hypostyle Hall at Karnak, he thought. Dallie had been working there, where his dad had worked before. 

"I remember these," he said softly, and sat at Bobbie's feet, on the worn rug, and dumped the box out so he could see and touch all the pieces. 

"I hoped you would," Bobbie said. "We kept them specially for you." He could hear the tears in her voice and looked up at her anxiously. She sniffed. "I just miss your mother so much. She was like a daughter to us, a treasure." She wiped her eyes on a large white handkerchief, embroidered DBD in one corner. "I know I'm old and silly, young Danny. But you look so much like her . . ." 

"Now, Bobbie," Dallie said, coming to hug her. "It was all a long time ago. Claire is in a much better place now. We'll see her again, soon enough, and darling Melburne, too." 

Daniel's throat seemed to close, as he sat there looking up at his parents' old friends, his old toys in his hands. Jack sat next to him, groaning a bit, his knees popping dramatically, and handed him a glass. "Araq," he said softly. "Dallie says it's just what the doctor ordered." 

He took a sip of the powerful liquor; it reminded him of Skaare's booze back on Abydos, and he realized he must've unconsciously been trying to recreate the flavor and kick of araq when he'd helped Skaare with the still. "Good," he wheezed, and Jack patted him firmly on the back. 

"Now, drink up, Bobbie," Dallie said, handing her a drink and then seating herself on the frayed couch. "Insha'Allah." 

"Insha'Allah," they all echoed. 

After a few moments of comfortable silence, while Bobbie composed herself and Dallie lit another cigarette, Jack said, "How did you come to know Daniel's parents?" 

"Oh, Bobbie helped Claire during her pregnancy. I'd heard of them, of course; who hadn't. Wonderful work they'd done, and they had reputations for meticulous documentation. Very impressive stuff. I'd met them very casually at some party or other -- trying to drum up money for another dig. Half an archaeologist's time is spent digging for money. Anyway, I'd heard through the grapevine that Claire had been having a rough time. So I stuck my nose in and took Bobbie with me for a visit." 

"We hit it off right from the start," Bobbie said, smiling in memory. "Such a dear thing. Tall and beautiful, just like young Danny. She was barely pregnant, not showing at all, but had been so ill. We tried a few different things, even some local remedies, but I have no idea what helped. Probably she just moved into a different phase of her pregnancy. But we stayed friends." 

"I changed your diaper far too often, as I recall," Dallie said, taking another drink of araq. "You used to get the most thoughtful look on your face, just before --" 

"Uh, Auntie Dalhousie, I don't think Jack is that interested in, uh, my diapers." 

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I dunno. Might have some good stories to share with the rest of the team." 

Daniel appealed to Bobbie. "Please. Don't leave Dallie and Jack alone together. I'll never live it down." 

He relaxed a little when Dallie said, "So who's the rest of your team? What do you do, young Danny? Last I heard, you were an archaeologist, too." 

"He still is," Jack said proudly. 

"Unfortunately, I work as a civilian consultant to the military," Daniel explained, crossing his fingers. 

"Top secret stuff." Dallie looked very knowledgeable. "Say no more, young Danny. We perfectly understand. We were here during the war, during several wars, actually. Still. Good to know you're following in your parents' footsteps." 

"Bobbie and Dallie, we'd like to take you to dinner tonight," Jack said. They exchanged glances. 

"It's very difficult for me to get out now," Bobbie explained. "Usually, we have dinner brought to us, from that nice Mister Soueeif. Very good food." 

"Then it's our treat tonight, so let's get something special," Daniel said, wondering if Bobbie was able to leave the apartment now that she was in a chair. 

"Come on, Jack," Dallie said, rising to her feet. "Let's go visit Mister Soueeif. The best fuul bi-suyuk you'll ever lay a lip over." 

"And kibda, Dallie. You know I love that." 

"Off we go. Come, Jackie. Bobbie needs her kibda." 

Jack waved, a cautious look on his face, as he followed Dallie back through the apartment. When Daniel heard the front door open and close, he looked back up at Bobbie. "Now, my dear," she said, looking more like her old self. "You just tell Aunt Bobbie what you're doing in Cairo after all these long years away." 

Daniel relaxed and smiled. This was what he'd come for. "Bobbie, I've been following some disturbing reports." 

"The mutilations?" 

He refused to let himself be surprised. "Yes, exactly. They seem to go back for some time." 

"Oh, hundreds of years, I should think. Perhaps more. Dallie and I have done a little research, and I'll put you in touch with a gentleman who used to work at the British Embassy who's done more. Lovely man. For a man, you know," and she winked at him. "As is your Jackie. Where did you find him?" 

"Bobbie, Jack and I aren't, um, we're not a couple." 

"More's the pity. Feet that size, I'm sure he's a --" 

"Bobbie." 

"Hmm. Don't play shy with me. I see how you look at him, how he looks at you." 

"Well, it's not what you think." 

She lifted her araq. "To unborn love." 

He shook his head ruefully, but lifted the glass and drank with her. 

"Now, let's get to work." She fumbled a bit with the wheel locks, got them undone, and pushed herself through the living room, past the little bar, and into a cluttered and dusty study. "Sorry," she said. "Just no time to do housework." Daniel felt his eyebrows rise, but said nothing. "Where, where, where are the little darlings?" she muttered, and parked her chair in front of a walk-in closet. "Check in there, young Danny. Middle shelf, far right. Labeled 'sphinx,' I believe." 

He obediently entered the little room. A string brushed his face; he tugged it and a light clicked on. Bending over, he studied the boxes stacked on the shelves; they looked like old-fashioned card catalog drawers pulled from their cabinet and left here. "I see them," he said, and carefully excavated two drawers, carrying them back to Bobbie. 

"Good boy. Now, set them down on the desk and let's have a keek, shall we?" 

To Daniel's amazement and dismay, the little cards were lettered by hand, many with newspaper clippings carefully glued to them, going back for over sixty years. "My god," he said, pulling out one dated 1942. "How long have you been following this?" 

"Only since the seventies. Your mother, god rest her dear soul, helped me compile this. You were nearly ready to come out and she couldn't work at the dig anymore. But nothing could keep Claire from a library." 

He stared at her in disbelief. "My parents knew about this?" 

"Oh, yes. We brought them in right away, as soon as we realized something was happening. We were sure they could help." She made a face. "Alas, t'was not to be. Your father could be rather protective of your mother and, once you were born, he wanted you both far away from any danger. So he took you to Al-Uqsar, where he helped excavate the Luxor Temple. The Birth Room, as a matter of fact, which I always found quite touching. He was a romantic, your father was." 

But Daniel was still fixated on the fact that his parents had known about the mutilations. "I can't believe this, Bobbie. Why hasn't anyone done anything? How many people have died?" 

She shook her head. "Many. Many, many have died. Terrible deaths, too. 

"I don't know why nothing's been done. I can make a few guesses, of course. Egypt was a poor country. Still is, in many ways. There simply aren't the resources to deal with something like this, or at least, there weren't back when Dallie and I were made aware of it. 

"And the type of people taken -- well, the fellaheen are so poor, and there are so many of them. They die so easily and so often." 

"Why did you tell my mom and dad?" 

Bobbie sighed heavily, and stroked the drawer in her lap. "They were good people, young Danny. I know I romanticize them. Dying so young, with a little boy, and so far away from their home and friends. We didn't hear forever -- Dallie was working at Karnak, which was fairly isolated twenty years ago." She stared at his face. "You are so like her," she whispered. "Take off your glasses, dear one, and come nearer. My eyesight is so poor these days." 

He obediently slid his glasses off, tucking them into his shirt pocket, and knelt before her. She put both hands on his face, cupping his jaw and cheeks. "Same square jaw," she murmured. "And those eyes. Let's see your hands." She held his right one for a moment. "Your father's," she said at last. "He played piano so beautifully." 

She released him and he stood again. "We told them because they were young and strong and brave. We thought your father might be able to do something. 

"But Claire was pregnant, and he was so fearful for her. It was a difficult pregnancy, as Dallie said, and once you were born, he took you away. 

"But your mother remembered. She sent us clippings and wrote summaries of things she heard from the local people when they were working in Giza. But your father would never return; he was frightened for his family, you see. We asked too much of him." 

Daniel turned and walked to a window, pulling back the sheer curtains. He looked down at the busy street beneath them, noises floating up to him. Arguments, real and rhetorical; street vendors calling out their wares; children playing, their mothers shouting after them; and the parade of cars and camels and donkeys and dogs. And then he saw Jack and Dallie, their arms laden, laughing and talking as they threaded their way through the crowd below him. 

His father had been afraid to investigate, because of him. A little baby who needed to be protected, a young mother anxious for her son. Of course his father had taken them away. He would've have done the same, had it been he and Sha'uri. 

But Sha'uri been taken from him, and he was convinced he'd never have children now. That opportunity had been taken along with Sha'uri. Shifu would be the nearest thing to a child he'd ever have. He'd watch Cassandra grow up, and Ry'ak; possibly Sam would marry and have children one day, and he'd be an uncle to them. But his line would end with him, he knew. 

At that moment, Jack tilted his head back and looked up. Even through Jack's sunglasses, Daniel knew he was looking up at him. He smiled, and raised his hand; Jack nodded back, smiling more broadly. 

"Danny?" Bobbie said gently. 

He turned to her. "I'm okay," he said, and he was. "But I want to find out what's going on." 

She smiled at him, proudly and in relief. "I knew you would. You're just like your mother. If anyone can figure this out, you can." 

And then Jack and Dallie were back, their arms full of delicious smelling boxes and bags, and the four of them settled down to a good dinner. Jack was on his best behavior, Daniel thought, smiling behind his napkin as he watched Jack flirt shamelessly with the two elderly women who ate him up with a big spoon. Being with Jack in Egypt, with his parents' friends, among possessions he remembered from his babyhood, nearly overwhelmed Daniel, and he was quiet enough that Bobbie held his hand during dessert and Jack kept a sharp eye on him. 

At last, though, when the second bottle of wine had been drunk and the dishes washed and put away, Jack and Daniel rose to go. "Come back, young Danny," Dallie whispered to him, holding him tight against her. He wanted to lay his head on her shoulder as he had when he was a little boy and she'd carried him through the teeming streets of Cairo, seeking out an ice cream stand she was especially fond of. 

"I will," he promised, and kissed her leathery cheek, then knelt next to Bobbie. "I will come back." 

She kissed him, her eyes filling with tears. "You do that, dear one. We don't have much time left in this life. I want to see you again." She put her mouth against his ear and added, "And your handsome Jack." 

He kissed her again and rose, taking the two drawers of notes with him. "Goodbye," he called from the hallway, and waved at him. 

Jack let him be silent until Daniel had composed himself a bit. Then he asked, "What's in the boxes?" 

"I can scarcely believe this, but notes about the killings and mutilations." 

"You are kidding." 

"Not at all. They've been following them for over thirty years. Even my parents knew about them." 

Jack stopped, forcing the crowd to part around him. "Daniel, that doesn't make any sense. If people have known about this for thirty years, why hasn't anything been done?" 

Daniel nudged Jack to get him walking again. "I asked Bobbie that. She thinks it's largely due to lack of resources. Egypt's a big country with a lot of people, most of them very poor. Who would do the investigation? At least they tried to do something. Some of the notes in these files are in my mother's handwriting. But there's a sort of triage that goes on in any criminal investigation, and these people were just overlooked." 

But Jack picked up on the important part. "Your mom knew? She took notes about this?" 

Daniel nodded, smiling faintly. "I couldn't believe it when I saw her handwriting. I'm so glad Bobbie kept these, just for that reason." 

They walked in silence for a while, and then Jack said, "I'm gonna find us a taxi." 

"Good luck." 

But Jack did find them a taxi, leaving Daniel to haggle over the cost back to the Mena House. Once en route back, the taxi driver using every inch of the road to his advantage, Jack shouted over the noise of the engine, "Dallie thinks the sun shines outta your behind." 

Daniel felt himself blush. "Well, she's pretty special herself." 

"Yeah, she is." There was a tense pause as the driver negotiated a complex intersection; both Jack and Daniel leaned expectantly forward, braced for an impact that, miraculously, never came. "She was pretty surprised to hear from you after all these years. I got the impression they'd tried to reach you." 

Daniel stared through the bug-smudged windshield. "Yeah," he said at last, hoping Jack would take the hint. 

"They're nice folks. Why not drop her a line?" When Daniel didn't respond, Jack said more quietly, "Daniel?" 

"Embarrassed," was all Daniel could say. He heard Jack sigh heavily, with frustration, no doubt, but the questions stopped until they were deposited in front of the Mena House's lobby. 

"Daniel, what were you embarrassed about?" 

They stood on the front veranda, a long, ornately decorated room that wandered the width of the hotel. When Daniel didn't answer, Jack took him by the elbow and led him to a cluster of chairs, then sat. The smell of the jasmine rose around them, and Daniel was painfully reminded of his mother. It was hotter tonight than the previous night; his shirt was drenched and stuck uncomfortably to him. All he wanted was his shower and bed, but here he sat, being interrogated by Jack. 

"I don't know what you want me to say." 

"Why didn't you contact Bobbie and Dallie? They obviously love you, god knows why, and missed you. And it's pretty obvious that you love them. What's with that?" 

Daniel gazed across the grounds, into the dense shrubbery and English-style flowerbeds. He could hear splashing and people laughing not far off, in the pool, and the clink of ice against glass. At last he said, "Jack, what happened to me -- there was no way I could explain that to Bobbie and Dallie. You saw how much they loved my parents. They still think my dad is the best archaeologist, and Bobbie always calls my mother a saint. How could I say: Hey, I've been maligned in the best organizations in the profession. I'm laughed at when I speak in public. What would they do? What could they?" 

Jack put his hand on Daniel's shoulder, but didn't speak. What could he say? Daniel thought, a little bitterly. It was true. People had laughed and then walked out on him. Only Catherine hadn't laughed. 

"I'm sorry," Jack said eventually, and squeezed Daniel's shoulder. "I'm sorry that happened to you, Daniel. But goddammit, you were _right_. Doesn't that mean anything to you? All those people who laughed -- they're short-sighted assholes. Their good opinion isn't worth shit. Fuck 'em." 

Daniel smiled sadly. "Fuck 'em," he echoed. He knew Jack was right, but still. He wanted his parents' approval and, failing that, he wanted his parents' friends' approval. But he'd never get it. What they did was too top secret. As long as the stargate was a state secret, he'd be considered a laughingstock. 

Jack sighed again, and then slapped his shoulder. "I stink," he said conversationally and stood up. "And not to be rude, but so do you, young Danny." 

He groaned. "I'm never gonna live that down, am I. " He plucked at the damp shirt stuck to his skin, fanning it in a vain attempt to cool down. Jack was right; he did stink. "Right now, that Minnesota weather you've got in the hotel room sounds pretty inviting." 

The next morning, Daniel told Jack, "Well, I've read everything in those files that Bobbie gave me. A lot of it matches up with what I'd discovered, and what General Hammond said the research department of the Joint Chiefs of Staff had uncovered. We don't need anymore proof that something has been happening. We need to figure out what it is, and how to stop it." 

Jack shrugged. They were sitting on the balcony, having coffee and pastries. "If it really goes back hundreds of years, I think it's pretty obvious that it's a Goa'uld, don't you?" 

"Well, yes, actually. But we need to keep an open mind." 

Jack shrugged again and took a big bite of croissant. "If you say so," he tried to say through it. 

"I do." 

Jack swallowed and said, "How do we find this guy?" 

"Um. I think we need to go out where the latest attacks have taken place. Talk to the families of the victims. See what they think happened. And then spend the night there." 

"Okay, see, that's so not a good idea." 

"We have to find out what's happening. How else can we?" 

"Ask questions. Talk to the police." 

"That's exactly what I suggested." Jack narrowed his eyes, and Daniel decided he'd get what he wanted more quickly if he backed off. "Okay. We'll do it your way." Which is my way, he added silently. Fortunately, Jack didn't suddenly develop telepathy and just took another sip of his coffee. 

The Mena House sat right at the foot of the pyramids of Giza. It was surreal, Daniel thought, to sit by the pool and stare at the Great Pyramid of Khufu. They could literally walk up the Shari' al-Ahram and enter the grounds. They had decided to postpone the visit, however, until after they'd done more investigating into the mysterious deaths. 

So rather than walking to the al-Ahram, they hired another one of the black-and-white taxis, Daniel again taking responsibility to ensure they weren't robbed blind, and then headed past the pyramids and into the surrounding crowded haras where the zabbalin, the trash collectors, lived in appalling squalor. Jack's nose wrinkled and the taxi driver frowned when Daniel told him to stop. 

"Here? Are you sure?" Jack asked. 

Daniel pulled the map from his pocket and pointed to it. "In the last decade, more than fifty percent of the deaths have occurred in this area. Yes, I'm sure." He looked at the taxi driver. "O Chief Engineer. Please wait for us as you agreed." 

"Yes, O Professor," the man responded, but his expression was severe. 

"How'd he know you were a professor?" Jack asked when he'd climbed out of the car and stood stretching. 

"He doesn't. It's just a respectful form of address for someone of indeterminate social status. He'd probably call you 'O Teacher,' because you're older." 

They began picking their way through the mounds of refuse. Donkeys poked their noses disconsolately into the trash, looking for something to eat, while little kids ran wild over it, screaming and arguing. A man about Jack's age watched them from where he sat on a squashed oil drum; Daniel headed toward him. 

"Sabah-il-kheyr," he said, bowing slightly. "Izzayak?" 

"Kwayiss," the man responded politely, but watched them closely. 

"Insha' Allah." Daniel thought for a moment, and then framed his first question. "I have read in foreign newspapers that a terrible thing happened here." The man continued to watch him but remained silent. "A child was taken and --" Daniel paused; he wasn't sure of the word he wanted. 

"Why do you care?" 

"I was born and raised in Egypt," Daniel said, hoping the truth would help his cause. "I love this country. I saw that no one was responding to the cry for help. This goes against everything I know of Egypt." 

The man nodded and finally looked away. "As you say. When a man cries 'thief,' his neighbors respond. When a mother cries 'murderer,' no one responds." He looked back at Jack and Daniel. "You believe you can change this?" 

Daniel shook his head sadly. "I cannot, O Pilgrim. But I can learn who has done such terrible things." 

"You will have tea with me," the man said decisively, and rose. "Please follow." 

"Where are we going?" Jack whispered to him. 

"To tea with this guy. I think he can get us started." 

"First guy we meet? He's gonna rob us, Danny. Jesus." 

"Jack. Trust me." 

"Famous last words." 

"Here, here," and the man gestured. There was a qahwa of sorts -- not a real coffee house, like Daniel frequented in the states, but still a place to gather and drink coffee and tea. A few homemade benches, a tin pot over a charcoal fire, and old men wearing galabayyas sat and sipped. Two moved over a bit, so Jack and Daniel squashed together, hip-to-hip, while the old man explained their presence. 

"Tea, O Professor?" the eldest man there asked, and Daniel nodded. 

"Il-hamdo li-lah," Daniel responded, and accepted a glass of faintly tinted hot liquid, and another for Jack. "It'll be sweet and strong," he murmured in warning as he lifted the glass to his lips. 

"We're not supposed to drink the fucking water," Jack whispered urgently, but Daniel swallowed his down. This stuff would knock the dust off a camel's back, he thought. With no perceptible hesitation, Jack took a sip, too. "Insha' Allah," he said, and Daniel thought he really meant it. 

Once the formalities had been observed and a second round of tea parceled out, their host introduced the others. "I am Mahfouz," he ended, and Daniel bowed again. "Tell us again why you are here." 

This time, Daniel sat for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He could feel that Jack was tense; he didn't like situations in which he couldn't understand what was being said. But Daniel didn't want to interrupt the flow of conversation more than he had to, so he hoped Jack would trust him a little while longer. 

At last, he introduced himself. "My name is Daniel Jackson, and I am an archaeologist. I am the son of two archaeologists, who met and married here, in Egypt. I was born and raised here. Egypt is, in many ways, my home. 

"I have come home after many years away because I read, again and again, of terrible things occurring here. In the haras. And no matter how the people pull together, still they happen. 

"I wish to learn more about these things. My friend and I may not be able to help, but we wish to try." 

There was a long silence. Jack nudged him with his shoulder, but Daniel kept his eyes on Mahfouz's face, trying to look earnest and truthful. Mahfouz stared back, and then his eyes flickered to the other men with them. 

The eldest spoke, but in a dialect that Daniel didn't know. The others listened respectfully, and he ended quite abruptly, signaling the end of the discussion by drinking his tea. Mahfouz shrugged elaborately and said, "We are sorry. We know not of this. You have been lied to by the foreign papers." 

Daniel knew he'd get no more from them. He rose, Jack standing quickly, and bowed again. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for the tea and for your time." 

They had to find their own way back to the impatiently waiting taxi driver, who was shouting at the children playing around the car. "Demons," he muttered as Jack and Daniel got back into the car. "Let me take you to al-Ahram, O Professor. Much better place to sightsee." 

"Thank you, O Engineer, but we must go to another hara here in Giza." He pulled out the map yet again and they conferred over it, the driver finally agreeing to take them to another trash collector neighborhood. "Who are these people, and how did you find them?" Jack asked, reluctantly opening the car door. 

"The lowest in the social chain. They've lost the most people to whatever it is, and they have the least ability to seek justice." 

Jack stared at his boot, squishy with donkey dung. "Lovely," he muttered, but continued to follow Daniel. 

They met yet another group of old men sitting around another charcoal fire drinking more of the tea-dust tea. Thank god they boiled it so long, Daniel thought as he accepted another glass of the incredibly strong and sweet stuff. But it did overpower the stench of trash and donkey for a few minutes, so he supposed it was worth it. 

Again, they learned nothing. Jack complained, the taxi driver complained, but Daniel insisted they go to yet another hara, and another qahwa. After the fourth, though, Jack insisted, and they returned to the Mena House, exhausted and depressed. "It's our first day," Daniel pointed out, but Jack didn't even glance at him. 

"Look," Daniel finally said as they clambered out of the taxi and into the cool lobby, "let's take tomorrow off. Do some sightseeing. I'll make an appointment with Uncle George's friend at the British embassy. 

"Besides, it's probably a good idea to let word travel about what we're doing. Egyptian society is structured through gossip. In a few days, half the city will have heard of us. Maybe someone will come forward." 

He saw that, although he'd managed to cheer himself, Jack was still sour. Tired, no doubt, by sitting around stinky fires listening to a language he only partially understood and that held none of the pleasant associations it did for Daniel. Silently, Daniel led the way to their rooms, hoping a cool bath and a drink would help. 

Lots of drinks, he told himself later that evening. Some of the asir laymun with a good tot of vodka, seemed to be helping. They sat by the pool, wearing shorts and cotton tee shirts, and watched the sun set behind the pyramids. A stunning scene, and one even Jack couldn't resist. As night rose around them, scented with chlorine and jasmine and smoke from the restaurants' grills, he settled back. "How much is this costing?" 

Daniel smiled into his glass. "General Hammond is helping, so don't worry." 

"Just helping, though. So who's paying for the rest?" 

"Well, I wanted to stay here. I've wanted to since I was a starving student. The history of the place appeals to me, of course, and its location. Nothing would ever be permitted to be built this near the pyramids now. And I think we deserve a little luxury, after all we've done." 

"Yeah, savin' the world a few times should result in a few perks. But let me help pay, all right?" 

"No. My treat." When Jack started to object, Daniel added, "you can take us out to dinner one night. Some place wildly extravagant. How's that?" 

"That I can do." 

Daniel nodded happily. He knew just the place. It would set Jack's credit card back quite a bit, but he thought Jack would enjoy it. 

First thing in the morning, Daniel called the British Embassy and asked to make an appointment with General Hammond's friend Robertson Clayton-Burns. To his surprise, the receptionist seemed surprised at his request, and he was put on hold for some time, with different voices coming back to check with him. At last, he was able to schedule a meeting with Mr. Clayton-Burns in two days, at eleven in the morning, at the embassy. He shook his head over the mysterious ways of the British. Surely it wasn't unheard of for an American to visit the embassy. 

"Brits," was all Jack said when Daniel reported the odd conversation. He had reserved a taxi and they had to rush to meet it since the call had taken so long. They went east, across the Nile, and deep into the heart of medieval Cairo, getting out at the Citadel. 

"They started building this in 1176," Daniel explained as they began their tour of it. He didn't want to spend too long here, however beautiful it might be; he wanted to walk from the Citadel to the Bab al-Futuh. The Citadel was an enormous place, full of beautiful mosques and museums and statues; perhaps they should spend the entire day here. Certainly it was a bit cooler, and the air fresher, than outside. But they had so little time in Cairo, so he pushed Jack on. 

They did spend some time in the Military Museum, but paintings didn't interest Jack and the artifacts were too recent to interest Daniel, so they made their way to the Bab al Gadid, walking up the Dar al Ahmar. "Look, Jack." Daniel pointed down a side street. "Right there you can see the ruins of a hospital built in 1420 and a school built in 1348. Can you imagine what Western Europe looked like in those days? Barbarians." 

Daniel insisted they also stop at the Aqsunqur, the Blue Mosque, which really was blue, and they hiked up to the minaret to survey the city. It was already hazy with heat, dust, and smog. Jack stared silently out at it from behind his sunglasses; after a long moment, he turned to Daniel. "So off to the Bab Zuwayiah?" 

"You've been listening to me?" 

"Hey. I listen. It's the Casbah, right?" 

"Well, Qasabah, yeah. The bazaar. For eight centuries it's been a commercial district." They started back down the steps. "I was hoping we could find some gifts here. For Sam and Teal'c and Cassandra, maybe." 

"Like little King Tuts? Stuff like that?" 

"Well, I guess. If you want. I was hoping for something a bit more, um, a bit less kitschy." 

"Kitschy? Hey, I resemble that remark." 

"I noticed." Jack shot him a glance, but Daniel could tell he was hiding a smile. 

They had to sidle their way through the crowds, trying not to bump into the shouting and gesticulating shoppers and sellers but failing miserably. Daniel kept glancing nervously over his shoulder; he was afraid he'd lose Jack in this crowd. Suddenly, he felt someone touch him; he spun, and Jack placed his hands on his shoulders. He smiled at Jack and turned back, feeling more confident as he led Jack through the crowd. 

At last he came to a shop he remembered from years ago. It was open fronted, the mashrabiyyat or traditional screens pushed back to let in air and customers. The walls were hung with fabric cross-stitched in Bedu designs of reds, oranges, and yellows, making the small area seem to glow. 

"I thought jewelry for Cassie," Daniel murmured to Jack, aware of the watching eye of the owner on them. "But I know Sam can't wear jewelry off-world, so maybe a perfume bottle." 

Jack raised his eyebrows; Daniel wasn't sure if it was at the thought of Sam wearing perfume or just at the idea of buying gifts for their friends. The owner approached them at last, having given them enough time to indicate their interest. "Salaam aleikum," he said, bowing, and Daniel returned the bow, Jack following suit a second later. 

"Aleikum salaam. How are you, O Teacher?" Daniel asked him in Egyptian Arabic, and felt Jack sigh. He pointed out an amulet he wasn't the least interested in, just to get the process started, and then settled in for a lengthy bout of negotiation. He had spotted a perfume bottle, mouth-blown and decorated with twenty-two karat gold and hand-painted. He thought Sam would love it, and it was worth spending some time to get. 

He walked away thirty minutes later very happy with his purchases. In addition to the perfume bottle, he'd gotten a simple gold earring for Teal'c, and a charm bracelet for Cassie, with two tiny camels, three differently-sized pyramids, and a sphinx. 

He found Jack sitting at a nearby cafe; he'd managed to order himself a kind of lemonade, asir leyman, and, best of all, one for Daniel, too, who drank it right down. 

"Bartering's thirsty work," he told Jack, grinning, and then showed him his treasures. 

"You love this, don't you." 

"Well, yes." He looked around at the teeming streets, the noisy qahwa Jack had selected, the shops bursting with activity, the street vendors shouting out their wares -- who wouldn't love it? 

Then he looked at Jack, sitting coolly in his shades, loose cotton shirt, and linen trousers. "You'd rather be fishing," he guessed, and Jack smiled. 

"They got fish in the Nile?" 

"Is the pope Catholic?" 

"Can we go?" 

Daniel smiled mysteriously, thinking of the treat he had in store for them. "Oh, maybe. We'll see." 

"Daniel. I'm not sure I like the look in your eye." But Daniel refused to divulge his secrets just then and, besides, they still had a job to do. 

They continued up the thoroughfare, sidestepping their way through the crowd, Daniel pausing to point out where copper pots were being beaten into shapes, and filials for mosques were being made, the onion and garlic market -- which Jack could have identified without Daniel's help -- and ending up at a teahouse opposite the Bab al-Futuh, where they found seats. Jack wrinkled his nose up against the smoke; Daniel remembered when Jack was a smoker, but now he was purer than driven snow. You couldn't visit Egypt and not inhale a good amount of second-hand smoke, he thought, and took a deep breath. He liked the strong scent of the Egyptian tobacco, so different from the insipid American stuff he occasional smelled at home. 

"What's next on the agenda?" Jack asked him when their coffees were delivered. 

Daniel raised his eyebrows. "Well, nothing. I figured we'd catch a taxi and go back, maybe swim and nap." 

Jack sighed with relief. "Thank god. My knees are killin' me." 

"Jack, why didn't you say something?" Daniel started, but Jack held up his hand. 

"I would've if it was really bad. But climbing all those stairs, and the cobblestones -- it's just time to rest a spell. Not like we're out on a mission." 

"That's true." But Daniel was still a little worried. It was unlike Jack to complain, and he resolved to keep a closer eye on him. Janet would kill him if Jack came home injured. 

Their appointment with Robertson Clayton-Burns was at eleven the next day, so Daniel slept in, then took a long cool bath before calling for a taxi to pick them up. The British Embassy was just on the other side of the Nile, in the Garden City district, not far from the US Embassy. "Are you an historian?" Daniel asked Jack over breakfast. "Or an Air Force colonel?" 

"Well, do we have to claim me as anything? Can't I just be your friend? Then we can just go along with whatever arises." 

Daniel nodded, and took a bite of croissant. Sounded good to him. The fewer lies they told, the better. Sometimes he had trouble remembering all the lies he'd told. "Just remember that General Hammond is my Uncle George." 

"More like Grandpa George," Jack muttered, but Daniel ignored him. 

They presented themselves promptly at eleven at the gates to the Embassy. It was an enormous and enormously-impressive building, only a block from the Nile, and after they'd managed to get through heavy security, including being patted down and passed through a metal detector, they were permitted into a spacious lobby where they then were handed off to several receptionists of varying degrees of formality. 

"Is the royal family visiting?" Jack whispered to him at one point, but Daniel shushed him firmly. He knew that Jack knew perfectly well why security was so tight here. 

They were led upstairs, where it was even quieter; Daniel had begun to regret how informally he'd dressed. Everyone seemed to be in wool suits here, even the women. "I feel like I'm in a movie," Daniel murmured to Jack when they were asked to wait. Their current guide left them in a large, wood-paneled room, with thick Berber rugs underfoot, and oversized, uncomfortable chairs. 

Jack sat, then immediately stood up and walked to the windows. Daniel followed him and peered out over his shoulders. The windows looked out onto a side yard; he couldn't see much, just a lot of roof studded with antennas, and then buildings in the distance. 

"Gentlemen?" A new guide entered the room, a youngish man with floppy light brown hair. "If you'd come with me, Mister Clayton-Burns can see you now." Jack glanced at his watch, but fortunately the young man had turned away. Daniel touched Jack's wrist and frowned. 

The new guy led them through more hallways; Daniel wondered how long it took a new employee to learn his way around a place this size. At last they came to a shut door, which the young man knocked softly on and then opened. He stepped aside, and Jack and Daniel entered the room. 

"Doctor Jackson?" a man about Daniel's age asked. "What a pleasure! I am so pleased to meet you." He came forward with an outstretched hand; Daniel bent forward to shake his hand and then pointed to Jack. 

"This is my friend, Jack O'Neill," and he paused while they shook, "and there must be some mistake. I had an appointment with Robertson Clayton-Burns, a friend of my Uncle George Hammond." 

"Yes, yes, I know. And I am he. Or rather, I am another Robertson Clayton-Burns. Dear Uncle George! I haven't seen him since I was the tiniest of sprogs. However is he?" 

Daniel glanced at Jack, puzzled, but said, "Fine. Uncle George is fine. But where is his friend? He asked me to pay his regards to his friend Robbie." 

"Yes, and you shall. There was some confusion when you called. My grandfather, for whom I am named, has since retired, and of course, no one thought you might be asking for him. Of course, no one thought to ask you, so really, it's our fault." 

"No, not at all. I just -- does he still live in Cairo?" 

"Yes, well, not in Cairo per se, but quite near by. I visited him, oh, can't be more than a week ago. In excellent though diminished health. He will be delighted to meet you and learn about his old friend, I'm sure." 

There was an awkward pause, and then Daniel said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Clayton-Burns, to have caused you an inconvenience. It didn't occur to Uncle George that his friend might have retired. Will you contact him, or may I have his address or phone number?" 

"No, I'll be delighted to call him myself. Chat a bit, you know, keep in touch with him. I'm the only member of the family out here, so I've been charged with watching over him." 

Again, there was a pause. Daniel wondered if he was reading too much into the conversation, but it felt to him as though there was a second one occurring, one he could barely hear but couldn't understand. "Ah," he started, and then Clayton-Burns said, "Please sit down. I've arranged for tea for us. I don't normally indulge, but I thought you might, as Americans, enjoy the ritual." 

Daniel glanced at Jack, who shrugged, and then followed Clayton-Burns to a low table set in front of a large window. He and Jack sat on a sofa with an elaborately-patterned fabric, while Clayton-Burns settled into a club chair covered in a different fabric. Anywhere else, Daniel thought, they would have clashed, but here they looked respectable and even stuffy. 

In a moment, the floppy-haired man came in bearing a large tray full of cups and saucers, a teapot wrapped in a cosy, and platters of tiny cakes and cookies and what Daniel was certain were crumpets. He felt his eyebrows rise; this really was like something out of an Agatha Christie novel. If only Clayton-Burns wore a monocle, all would be complete. 

Food had its usual relaxing effect, however, and soon Daniel was answering their host's questions. "I'm still looking for gifts. I'd like to buy a reproduction of that little blue faience hippo, but I haven't found one I liked." 

"Oh, my dear fellow, I know exactly where to go. I'll give you directions." He pulled a tiny gold pen from a pocket and began scribbling on the back of a napkin. "And do tell them that I sent you. I'm sure they'll give you a better discount. Or do you haggle?" And he peered at Daniel with such intensity that he wondered what Clayton-Burns was really asking. 

Before he could formulate an answer, Jack said, "Oh, he haggles, all right. He'll haggle the coins off a dead man's eyes." 

"Jack!" 

Jack shrugged and took a bite of cake. "It's true, Danny. You're as good as they get." 

"Um. Thank you. I think." 

"I see you two are old friends," Clayton-Burns said. "Lovely to see. In my business, it's difficult to keep friends. All the traveling, don't you know. We get rather incestuous, only know other chaps in the business. Whereas I should imagine an archaeologist and a US Air Force colonel wouldn't cross the same paths very often." 

Daniel froze. He didn't dare look at Jack, although he sensed him set down his cup and the small dish of cake. 

"Interesting observation," Jack said after a few seconds had passed. 

"I thought so." 

"Who are you, really?" Daniel asked him. 

"Really? I'm really Robertson Clayton-Burns's grandson, and I really have his name. The fifth, to be precise, to bear the name. All that is real." 

"But this," Daniel asked, waving his hand between them. 

"Oh, quite genuine. I shall call Grandfather and make all the arrangements, and take you there myself. He will be delighted, I know. That is, if you really are George Hammond's nephew." 

Shit. Now Daniel did look to Jack for guidance. He sighed and said, "Daniel is very close to George, as I am. And we have been asked to pay a visit to your grandfather. I think that's all that needs to be said." 

"Is it? Well, perhaps. Perhaps we'll speak more at Grandfather's. I know I shall look forward to the opportunity. 

"Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure. Please feel free to remain here and enjoy the tea that Milton provided us. I must return to my work, but I shall call you at the Mena House in a day or so. How long will you be in Cairo?" 

After a moment, Jack said, "As long as it takes." 

"Ah," he said again. "Very good. I shall leave you in Milton's more-than-capable hands, and hope to see you again in a day or two. Good day." 

"Bye," Jack said, but Daniel only nodded. When Clayton-Burns had left, he turned to Jack, who put his hand over Daniel's mouth. "Not here," he mouthed, and Daniel nodded. He wiped his fingers on a napkin and stood; just then, Milton of the floppy hair arrived. 

"Can you show us out?" Daniel asked, and Milton could. 

"Well," Jack said as he slid his sunglasses back on once they were back on the sidewalk outside the embassy grounds. "That was just a tad too interesting for me." 

"Yeah. Yeah, that was one of our stranger outings." 

"Was that guy a spook or what? Jesus. Why not wear a tee shirt saying: I Spy." 

They started walking back toward the hotel. "Really? I mean, what makes you think he's a spy?" 

"Made my skin crawl." 

"Jack." 

"No, seriously. Couldn't you tell? He knew I was in the Air Force, and he knows you're don't have an Uncle George." 

Daniel had to smile, but resolved to call General Hammond that night, see if he knew anything about his old friend's grandson. 

"I'll look into it," the general promised him over a hissing connection. Daniel had waited till late afternoon to call; it was nine hours earlier in Colorado Springs, and General Hammond usually arrived about eight. "How are you and the colonel doing, Doctor Jackson?" 

"We're fine. I'm afraid we haven't made much progress, though, General," he admitted. 

"That's to be expected, son. These things take time. And try to remember to call me Uncle George. Just do your best and take care of each other." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Is the colonel there?" 

"Yes, he's right here. I'll put him on." Daniel held out the phone; Jack rolled his shoulders before taking it. 

"Yes, sir," he boomed in what Daniel thought of as his parade ground voice. "Yes, sir. No, sir. Of course. Of course. Yes, sir. I'll ask Daniel to do that. Goodbye, sir." He hung up, and then grinned at Daniel. "Uncle George wants you to buy his grandkids something. He'll repay you. Use your own judgment." 

"You'll help, won't you?" 

"Aw, Daniel, jeez. You're as bad as a woman, asking me to go shoppin'." 

"Well, fuck you, mister colonel sir." He turned on his heel, a little ticked with Jack, but Jack caught him by the upper arm. 

"Sorry, sorry, Daniel. Really. That was -- I'm sorry, okay? I'd be happy to help you find something for the girls." 

He looked sincere, so Daniel relented. "It goes on your credit card, too." 

"That's fair." 

"I'm going swimming. Wanna come?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice." 

They'd discovered that the pools at the Mena House were often emptiest during the dinner hour, so Daniel did his laps while Jack bobbed in the cool water, sipping a gin and tonic. At each end of the pool, Daniel turned and slid like a seal under the water, loving the brush of it against his body, so cool and sensuous, as sensual as a lover's touch, and then he'd burst out for a gulp of warm, chlorine-scented air as he'd take the first stroke of the next lap. Wonderful. Like flying. He thought that Jack must feel like this when he flew. 

He slowed and then just floated, twisting to lie on his back. Stars were out, but without his glasses and with the bright lights over the pyramids, he could only see the brightest. At last he stood, and saw Jack, sitting on the steps, watching him. He breast-stroked his way over and trod water before him. 

"Hi." 

Jack smiled. "Good workout?" 

"Wonderful." 

"I didn't realize you were a swimmer." 

"Oh, I love it. My dad taught me, in the harbor at Alexandria. We used to go to the most marvelous beach; it's probably all built up and touristy now, but when I was a kid, we'd be the only people there." 

"Could we go there?" 

Daniel grasped the aluminum railing and pulled himself up to sit next to Jack, who handed him his drink. It was delicious, and he felt the gin rush straight to his head. "Of course. Sidi Abd al-Rahman. It's almost a hundred miles west of Alexandria, but I don't mind driving out there. If you'd like." 

Jack smiled again, smokily, enigmatically. "Let's see how we feel." 

Daniel stared at him, then took another big sip of the drink and handed it back. "I suppose we should eat something." 

"Yeah. I might've had a little too much to drink on an empty stomach." 

"Hell. We're kind of on vacation." 

Jack rose, water streaming off him, and stepped from the pool. A waiter rushed to take his drink and hand him a towel, then one to Daniel as he climbed out. He'd pushed himself harder than he'd realized, or else the gin was making him feel rubbery and relaxed. It was a wonderful feeling after such a strange day. 

He followed Jack back to their rooms, trailing through the winding paths, away from the buzz of conversation at the pool and into the silence of the gardens at the Mena House. He smiled all the way, remembering sharing Jack's drink, and how he'd asked to see Daniel's parents' favorite beach. 

The red light on the phone was blinking in the dark when he opened the door to their suite. They looked at each other, and then Jack picked it up and punched in the code for voicemail. "It's for you," Jack said, but didn't give him the phone. "It's that spook. Says we can see Grandfather in two days. He'll have a car here for us at ten." 

Daniel raised his eyebrows, but silently went to shower and dress for dinner. 

The next day, they hired a taxi to take them back to the haras; Daniel insisted on continuing that line of investigation. But they'd barely passed the gates of Mena House when he yelled, "Stop! Stop!" to the driver, who screeched the brakes, jerking the car wildly. 

"What the hell --" Jack started, but Daniel was already out of the car, ignoring him. Standing humbly at the side of the busy street was Mahfouz, whom they'd met the first day they'd gone out. 

"Salaam aleikum!" Daniel called, bowing, and Mahfouz bowed deeply back, his robes trailing in the dirty gutter. 

"Aleikum as-salaam wa rahmat Allah wa barakatu, O Professor," he said, and Daniel saw at once that something was different. 

"Why have you come, my friend," he asked kindly and a little fearfully. 

"Another one has been taken." 

"From your hara? A child? Someone's wife?" 

"A young man, the pride of his father, a beauty rejoiced on by all." 

"What would you have us do? Two Americans, who have no power?" 

"Perhaps you care?" 

"We do." 

"Perhaps you will come?" 

"We will. Please, we will drive you back." 

Mahfouz climbed into the front seat, because in Egypt, passengers were guests of the driver and it was rude for a lone male to ride in the back. Jack and Daniel were foreigners, however, so such politesse was not expected of them, Daniel knew. 

"We're going back to the first place," Daniel explained as he got in after Jack. "Someone's been killed." 

Jack nodded, his eyes on Mahfouz. Daniel saw that he was suspicious, but so was he. The Egyptians prided themselves on their sense of humor and playfulness; there was always a chance this was an elaborate joke on the two stupid Americans. But they had to go, they had to. And so they did. 

The taxi stopped just outside the trash collectors' neighborhood; the alleys were too filled with refuse for automobile traffic. Daniel paid the driver to wait, promising more later, and then they stepped into the reeking filth of Mahfouz' neighborhood, which was noisy with the wailing of women and little kids, men shouting, even goats wheezing. Daniel saw Jack's face tighten, with disgust but with compassion as well, that people anywhere should have to live like this. He stood very near Jack; in Arabic culture, it was appropriate and expected for men to touch, to hold hands, to kiss, and with Daniel's fears, he found the sweaty presence of Jack's solid and well-known body comforting in a way he didn't want to articulate to himself. 

Mahfouz led them to a large family, the woman weeping into an apron, tears running down the man's face as he explained what happened. "His son was out late last night with his friends. They're over there," and Daniel nodded toward a group of sullen-faced youths. "They say something took the boy, and then killed him." 

"We need to talk to them," Jack pointed out, but Daniel raised his hand. 

"You're right, of course, but we need to observe the formalities first, and that means --" 

"Letting the parents vent." 

"Um, yes." 

Jack nodded, and Daniel continued to translate, but it was mostly a diatribe against the son's friends and an encomium of the son's virtues, none of which Daniel believed, and a long vituperative denunciation of the police, which Daniel did believe. At last, Mahfouz interceded and led them to the boys, who stared at the two Americans approaching them. 

"This one, Salah," Daniel nodded politely at him, "says he saw something take Akil last night." Salah spoke rapidly and urgently, and something in his presence made Daniel believe him, unlike the other boys' sulky and arrogant postures. "It was dark, as dark as a moonless night," Daniel translated rapidly, "but he saw a movement and a, a shimmer of white. A mirage?" he asked Salah, who shook his head. "Something wavery, like heat rising from the desert floor." 

Jack sighed when Daniel finished. "Light and wavery," he murmured to Daniel, who shrugged. It was something, he supposed, although he wasn't sure what. "What's next?" 

He spoke to Salah, and then said, "I asked him to take us to where it happened." The men started shouting at each other and the women crying again, but after twenty minutes or so they were able to get away, following Salah who walked backwards like a tour guide, gesturing as he described in more detail what he'd seen. It took them a while to get to the site; Daniel discovered they'd sneaked out of their hara and onto the grounds of the pyramids, probably begging for money from tourists and hiding from the guards. 

They were near the sphinx when Salah stopped, waving his hands, speaking so quickly even Daniel had trouble understanding him. Mahfouz had come with them; he looked stern and disbelieving. "Here?" Jack said doubtfully. 

"So Salah says." And they stared at the ground; the sand had been kicked over, but bloodstains could be made out. Something had happened here. 

But when Daniel looked around him, he saw that there was no place to hide. The area was as flat as a soccer field, covered in the golden sand that drifted against the pyramids and slithered into Daniel's socks and shoes. He looked at Jack. 

"Ask him to describe it again, but slowly. Where was he standing?" Jack's interrogation took a long time, and Salah had a lot to say, but eventually they were able to recreate the sequence of events. 

Salah and his buddies had been loitering near the sphinx, watching tourists get their pictures taken in front of it in between light shows. A guard had chased them away, so they'd been trudging across the sand, trying to decide where to go next. Maybe find some foreign girls wearing trashy clothing. The others had gone first, then Salah, and behind him Akil, who had wanted to go home. Salah thought Akil had been sulking, trailing behind like that, and turned to shout at him. He'd seen a ripple or smudge in the night, and then Akil was dead, his body ripped open, entrails spilling over the sand like an offering to some vicious god. 

Jack listened intently, asking Daniel to follow up on some things. His face was impassive behind his sunglasses, although Daniel thought the lines bracketing his mouth were a little deeper than usual. At last Jack nodded. "Thank you," he told Salah. "Shukran." He stared across the desert, as if he were able to see whatever had taken Akil. "Let's go," he said, and turned to retrace their steps back to Mahfouz' hara. 

It was long after noon by the time they returned to the waiting taxi. Jack had been quiet, and Daniel had left him alone, hoping he was figuring something out. He had his own suspicions. Nirrti, for one -- she had the technology to become invisible. But why would she be killing here? Wouldn't she take hosts? It made no sense to him. 

"I'm starving," Jack said suddenly, to Daniel's surprise, but Daniel obediently directed the driver to take them to Andrea's, on the Maryutiya Canal. They sat under trellises in a beautiful garden, and he ordered the mezze and lamb and chicken, with Stella beer. The mezze were delicious: hummus and tabouleh and baba ghanough, tamiya, and torshi, served with wonderful bread, still warm from the oven. The apparently endless stream of little dishes of food seemed to amuse Jack, and he smiled at Daniel so Daniel's heart melted. He couldn't bring himself to mention the murder, just ate another tamiya and drank his beer. 

At last, Jack sat back, sighing with pleasure. "This was great, Danny. Thank you." 

"My pleasure." Daniel looked at the napkin in his hands, then back at Jack. 

"Not Goa'uld," he said, and Daniel raised his eyebrows. 

"Not even Nirrti?" 

"She wouldn't be on earth, would she?" They stared at each other. Jack bit his lip. "Maybe. Just have a feeling it's not Goa'uld, but maybe that's wishful thinking." 

"I think you're right. It doesn't fit their pattern. They take hosts. But I think we should go out there tonight. We said we'd see the pyramids. Let's do it tonight." 

Jack nodded. "Yeah. I think you're right." 

"You know, the sphinx sits near the Cliff Tombs." Jack looked interested. "I'm wondering if we should investigate them before dark. The hotel will have a schedule for the performances. There's bound to be one in English tonight." Daniel knew Jack wouldn't like the idea of roaming through tombs, but he'd do it. 

Jack rose, and tossed his napkin on the littered table. "Time for a nap, I think, if we'll be up late tonight and have to see Grandfather tomorrow." 

They shared a taxi back to the Mena House with a French tourist who complained bitterly about the heat and noise and dust. Daniel wondered why on earth he'd come to Egypt in the summer; surely that was the first thought anyone had about the desert? But obviously not. The Frenchman stalked into the hotel, ignoring the Americans, after handing the driver a two-pound note. That left most of the negotiated price to them, but Daniel didn't explain to Jack, just paid it. 

The heat and noise and dust were astonishing, though; Daniel had to agree with the Frenchman, however rude he might be. But he remembered his days here as a child with such pleasure, when he had simply accepted Cairo as home: full-throated, full-bodied, louche, and slightly dangerous. He smiled as he followed Jack to their rooms. 

The pyramids were especially beautiful at sunset, so every tourist in Lower Egypt seemed to be out. Jack stayed next to Daniel, standing much closer than would have been appropriate in Colorado but seemed necessary here. Their shoulders brushed often, and occasionally one man would put his hand on the other's shoulder or elbow or even hip as they slid and sidled their way through the crowds of tourists and guides and hawkers and pickpockets and guards and prostitutes. Daniel's bottom was pinched more than once, but he'd gotten used to that by now. He hadn't yet found the courage to ask Jack if he'd been fondled. 

"Laa, laa," he and Jack repeated, "No, no," as they pressed through the crush. It took forever, but finally they made their way to the Cliff Tombs. But they were smaller than Daniel remembered, until he remembered that _he'd_ been smaller, and they weren't really suitable for hiding in. He and Jack had exchanged a look, and then made their way next to the causeway to the mortuary temple of Khafre, then between his pyramid and Khufu's to the mastabas behind them. 

The crowd was significantly thicker here, though, and Daniel realized it was because the light and sound show would be more visible. This time, they made their way to the Menkaure's pyramid, the smallest of the three, and then south of it, to the Pyramids of the Queens. 

Here at last there were fewer people: some American teenagers, happy to escape their parents; a guard, watching them carefully; and a small group of new agey-looking people, dressed in quasi-Old Kingdom robes. Daniel wondered if they were some anachronistic society, actors preparing for the show, or genuine believers in whatever mishmash they'd come up with for the Old Ways. Jack watched them all cautiously, he saw. They turned a corner, then Jack put his hand on Daniel's arm. "Wait here," he said, but Daniel was not prepared to wait, and so he followed Jack around another corner and into the dark. Jack had known he'd follow, he realized, and smiled to himself with exasperated affection, because Jack stayed very near him and even put his hand on Daniel's chest, reaching behind himself to do so. 

They were in the dark, finally away from the crowd. Daniel leaned against the uneven wall behind him, and Jack learned against him. Even though it was hot and dusty, Daniel was comforted by Jack's body so near his, and he sighed as he relaxed a little. 

What were they waiting for? Daniel wasn't sure. Akil hadn't been taken until much later, and it was most unlikely that whoever or whatever had taken him would return a night later. But what else could they do but wait and watch? Nothing. Really, nothing. So they waited. 

Eventually, Daniel sat on the ground and rested against the ancient structure that sheltered them; Jack also sat, after looking down at him, his face barely visible in the reflected light from the laser show, and handed him a bottle of water. Eventually the show ended and the grounds grew quiet. The babble of the crowd diminished and finally was silenced; only the occasional crunch of a guard's boot and the noise from distant traffic disturbed the night, and Daniel fell asleep. 

He woke a little after two, according to his Air Force-issued chronometer, and a cooler watch he'd never owned; Jack was still sitting next to him, an arm around his shoulders, and he realized he'd been sleeping on Jack. Well, he'd slept there before, just as Jack had dozed against him. Still, it gave him a little rush, to be so trusting with someone, at such an unconscious level. How had that happened? 

Not that it mattered. He coughed softly and Jack turned his head so their faces were very near. "Okay?" he breathed, and Daniel nodded. 

"You?" Jack nodded, his breath warm against Daniel's cheek. He assumed Jack would've woken him had he seen anything. "You sleep. I'll watch a while." Like on another world. Jack smiled at him, his eyes sleepy, and he put his head on Daniel's shoulder. Ridiculously, Daniel felt a surge of pride that Jack would entrust him with this task. 

But all for naught. The stars slid past the pyramids, as they had for longer than anyone knew; no ships came to settle atop them, no monsters loomed, not even a moon to illuminate Jack's sleeping face. The night passed. Near dawn, Daniel permitted himself to sleep, too, until both men were woken by the sounds of complaining camels. 

Without a word they rose, dusting themselves off and wiping their eyes, and then made their way back to the entrance, where Daniel flagged down a taxi and argued for a better fare back to the Mena House while Jack watched indulgently. They were meeting the general's friend today; they needed to shower and dress. 

Robertson Clayton-Burns the fifth himself turned up in an impressive limousine to take them to his grandfather's home. Daniel was a little sorry they hadn't dressed nicer, but it was too fucking hot. Neither he nor Jack wore a suit, but instead had chosen linen trousers with loose white shirts. Jack wore his baseball cap and Daniel a straw hat with a blue band. The Fifth wore another thin silk suit, clearly made for him, and Daniel couldn't help notice how well it fit when he bent over to climb into the limousine ahead of them. 

"How is Uncle George, Daniel?" 

"Uh, fine. I talked to him two nights ago. He says hello." Clayton-Burns nodded. "Um, how do you come to call him Uncle George? No offense, but he's never spoken of you. To me, at least." 

Clayton-Burns shrugged, a minimal gesture. "I knew him when I was a little boy. Haven't seen him in donkey's years, but I still recall how he'd bring me sweets. A lovely man, really." 

Daniel nodded at the assessment. The general was a lovely man; he'd been more than kind to Daniel over their years working together. 

For the first time Clayton-Burns seemed a bit unsure of himself. "I, er, I think you know that my grandfather suffered a stroke a while ago?" Daniel shook his head, murmuring sympathetically. "Just want you to be prepared. Not sure if Uncle George knows how bad it was." 

"How bad was it?" Jack asked, startling Daniel. 

Clayton-Burns looked out the passenger window away from them, and Daniel glanced at Jack, who was watching Clayton-Burns closely. Then Clayton-Burns turned toward them. "Rather, actually. His mind's intact, thank god, but he's become quite frail." They said no more on the trip to his grandfather's home, which was south of Cairo, on the road to Abydos. 

Abydos. The word made Daniel's heart seize when he saw the signs in Arabic and English. If only he could go back to Abydos. Jack put a hand on his shoulder, to comfort him he knew, but he could not be comforted. There was no comfort for Daniel, not on this world, or any other. His comfort was buried in a sandy grave on a distant desert world. 

The drive took nearly an hour, most of it in silence. Clayton-Burns offered them bottled water and asir leyman, which Jack accepted. At last they entered a walled-and-gated neighborhood, the homes hiding behind more white-washed walls and enormous trees imported from all over the world. The limousine driver slowed as he drove through the winding empty streets, the road rising a bit, and then stopped as he came to a wrought-iron gate with a lion rampant in the center. He punched in a code on a device like a television remote and the gate slowly parted and swung open, then closed behind them as he drove them in. 

They drove another quarter mile or so before pulling up under a portico with seven columns, shaped like bound reeds, on either side of the drive. He leapt out and opened the door for Clayton-Burns; Daniel and then Jack slid out, both stretching. It was a bit cooler up here than down on the Giza Plateau, and a slight breeze stirred Daniel's hair. 

Another servant waited for them at the door, who silently led them through the cool ambulatory that pierced the center of the house. The walls were covered in what Daniel thought might be fragments of the original skin taken from the Abu Simbel Temple, when it was dismantled and moved to protect it from the rising waters of Lake Nasser. He slowed to study them, but Clayton-Burns kept moving and he felt compelled to keep up. 

Jack and Daniel's running shoes muffled their footsteps on the marble floor, but Clayton-Burns hard leather soles made a crisp tapping sound, announcing their arrival. They left the ambulatory and were guided through a series of large, open rooms, filled with an odd and oddly-British mixture of western and eastern furniture, rugs, and decorations. Daniel longed to linger, but Clayton-Burns pace and Jack's warning looks kept him from doing so. 

At last they entered a large, light-filled room, with high clerestory windows. The walls were white, the marble floor was white, and the thick rugs were knotted white wool. A tiny elderly man sat carefully on a white sofa, his legs thin as sticks. He was dressed in a suit much like Clayton-Burns's, but with an old-fashioned cravat instead of a tie. His sharp cheekbones and nose were a polished pink, and one side of his mouth glistened with saliva. Using a handkerchief in his opposite hand, he dabbed at it regularly. 

"Grandfather," Clayton-Burns said, and the affection in his voice made Daniel drop his eyes to give them a few seconds of privacy. From the corner of his eye, he saw Clayton-Burns drop to his knees and gently hug his grandfather, resting his head on the old man's thin chest. 

"My dear boy," the elder Clayton-Burns said indistinctly, and Daniel realized the stroke had affected the right side of his body. He kept his right arm around his waist, but slowly reached around his grandson with his left arm and drew him near. His grandson straightened up and kissed him soundly; Daniel smiled. 

"Grandfather, remember George Hammond? He used to visit us here when I was a little boy, and Mama would flirt with him till he'd turn bright red?" 

"Georgie, of course, of course." The old man smiled distantly. "Is dear George here?" 

"No, but his nephew Daniel is, and Daniel's friend Jack. They would like to meet you." 

"Hello, Mister Clayton-Burns," Daniel said clearly, as if he were speaking to his own grandfather, stepping forward to gently take the old man's left hand. "I'm so happy to meet you. Uncle George has such wonderful memories of your times together." 

"Dear Georgie," he said again, and Daniel saw that his eyes were cloudy with cataracts. "How is he?" 

"He's very well, and sends you his best. He's sorry he can't be here to reminisce with you himself." Mr. Clayton-Burns smiled and nodded. Daniel wasn't sure how much of the conversation was getting through to him, but said, "May I sit and visit with you a little while?" 

He slowly waved his left hand. "You must, indeed. My boy, would you like some tea?" 

"Yes, sir, if you would." 

"Oh, tea, yes. Dear?" 

"I'll call for it, Grandfather." And the younger Clayton-Burns kissed his grandfather again before rising to his feet and turning to Jack and Daniel. "Please sit down." He hesitated and then said, "Do tell Grandfather why you're in Egypt." Then he left the room. 

Daniel looked to Jack, who nodded. He sat next to Mr. Clayton-Burns, and Jack sat in an overstuffed armchair across from them. "How do you know my uncle, sir?" 

"Ah, that would be telling." Another smile, and then, surprisingly, a knowing wink. "Your uncle and I have some secrets left to keep, you know." 

Daniel thought a moment. "My uncle sent me to you not only to give you his regards, but because he thought you might help us. He, um, rather, we are looking for, um." He took a deep breath. "We've noticed that over the past hundred years or more, people have been disappearing." 

"Oh, child, people are always disappearing. It's the nature of people to disappear." 

"Yes, sir, of course. But I think maybe some of these have been taken. Possibly." 

He sighed. "For many, many years. Longer than a hundred, I'm quite sure." He looked sharply at Daniel. "Why do you care about the people who disappeared?" 

Daniel bit his lip, and then looked at Jack again. "Shouldn't I care about people who disappear? Perhaps are taken against their will?" 

"Why in Egypt? You're American, aren't you? Georgie is. Although I hear a slight accent in your voice. You were raised abroad perhaps?" 

"Yes, sir. Here in Egypt, actually. In Cairo and Alexandria." 

"Of course, of course. Not surprising. Georgie's family traveled with him; he was a very loving father and, I'm sure uncle." Again the sharp glance, and now Daniel had no doubts that Mr. Clayton-Burns didn't believe in his putative relationship with the general for a moment. 

"Yes, sir," was all Daniel said though. "He is a very loving man. And I love him." To Daniel's surprise, he realized he was speaking the truth. His mouth twitched at the thought of declaring his love for General Hammond. 

"Well, if you were raised here, I can understand your interest. Perhaps your concern." He seemed to fade out then, staring blandly before him. 

Daniel gently took his hand. "Mister Clayton-Burns?" 

"Please, call me Uncle Robbie." 

Daniel blushed. "Uncle Robbie, can you help me? Uncle George thought you might be able to." 

"I can, I can." He dabbed at his mouth again. "I should like my tea first, though. Where's that darling boy of mine?" 

Jack stood. "I'll find him, sir, and your tea, too." 

"Thank you, young man." He bent and whispered to Daniel, spraying him lightly with saliva, "He's your lover?" 

Daniel's eyes widened, and then he saw the smile on Mr. Clayton-Burns's face. "Oh, yes, sir." Jack snorted, and left the room. 

Again, the old man seemed to fade out for a moment, staring into space, his fingers on the hand held against his waist plucking lightly at something invisible. Then he sighed. "It's old, my dear. Very old. I wish I knew more, but I don't. But it's old, and many believe it to be evil. I'm not so sure. It's from Abydos," and Daniel's heart seized as it had on the road from Cairo. 

"What do you mean, from Abydos?" 

"Do you know Upuaut?" 

"Yes, of course. The opener of the way to the dead. He served Osiris, and was the son of Anubis." 

"Good boy. Yes, very smart of you. But not quite right. 

"The old stories are confused, and sometimes intentionally. Osiris, yes, was important to Abydos, and Upuaut was there. But he did not serve Osiris. He only pretended to. He was loyal to his father." 

Clearly this signified something important to Clayton-Burns, but Daniel wasn't sure what. "I'm sorry, sir, I mean, Uncle Robbie, but I don't understand." 

"Anubis is death." 

"Not in the Egyptian pantheon --" he started, but Mr. Clayton-Burns held up his fragile hand. 

"Anubis is coming, dear one. He has always come, he is always coming, he will always come. And Upuaut opens the door for him and to him. He leads us to our death. 

"He will come for me soon," he added, almost as an afterthought. Daniel wondered if he should contradict him, but clearly, death was not far from this man, nor fearful to him. 

"Is it some kind of serial murder?" 

"Perhaps it is easiest to think of it in those terms, although that strikes me as a very American concept. It just is. People die. Some die violently. And some are taken to die violently. Upuaut opens the door for those souls." 

"But why such violent deaths? The mutilations --" 

Mr. Clayton-Burns raised his left hand again; it trembled like a pale leaf. "You know Greek mythology, my boy?" Daniel nodded. "All mythology, really. Violence is holy, a sacrament. Without the pain, there can be no sacrament. To consecrate, to make sacred, requires passion, and passion, if you recall your Latin, means 'to suffer.'" He turned his head slightly so he could look into Daniel's eyes. "This is true for all," he whispered. 

Daniel stared back, slightly in shock. But in his heart, he knew Mr. Clayton-Burns to be right. To be worthy of veneration meant to be violently turned from life. 

Jack appeared just then, following by an Egyptian man carrying an enormous tray, and then another with an equally large tray, and then Robertson Clayton-Burns the younger. "Tea," Jack said, a little unnecessarily. Daniel thought "tea" in the Clayton-Burns's household must translate to "feast" in any other home, but he was thirsty and ready for a break. He also badly wanted to speak in private with Jack, but set that aside for later. 

"Was Grandfather able to help you?" 

"Yes, I think so." 

"Here's some tea, darling. Let me hold the cup for you, all right?" The old man nodded, and Daniel watched as Clayton-Burns carefully guided the cup to his grandfather's lips so he could sip greedily. 

Daniel also watched as Jack was served a cup by the silent servants, a very delicate Limoges cup, he thought, far too small for Jack's big, callused hand, but the tea was good, and suddenly he was hungry for all the little cakes and cookies and whatnots spread out over the low table before them. 

Clayton-Burns told them amusing stories of the consulate and the people who came in for various odd reasons. Daniel confessed to having lost his passport years earlier, and Uncle Robbie described how he'd become friends with George. 

"Such an accident, my dears. We were meeting on business, you know, just briefly, in passing, as it were, so my wife had accompanied me. She was wearing Ballenciaga and was _furious_ with him for spoiling the dress. He turned as red as a Beefeaters' uniform and of course, being a poor major at the time, couldn't hope to pay for the frock. All the orangeade on it! Sticky and drawing flies. Poor Charlotte. But she forgave him; he was so charming and so utterly American. Gauche, of course, and I hope you'll forgive me for saying so, but solid and honest and as good a friend as I've ever had. 

"So he's still on active duty? But I know he had planned to retire a few years ago." 

"Yes, and we worry about him. But he's good at what he does, and as long as he's happy, I hope he'll continue." 

"You're a good boy, aren't you." 

Daniel turned red, as red as Uncle George probably had when he'd spilled orangeade on a wealthy woman's Ballenciaga, but didn't deny the allegation. Jack smirked at him from behind his tiny cup, and he could've sworn that Clayton-Burns winked at him. 

Daniel drank two cups of tea and watched the two Clayton-Burns. They were so loving and attentive to each other; he wondered if the older man had raised his grandson. He couldn't help but think of his own Grandpa Nick, always so far from him, and be a little jealous of their relationship. If only the general really had been his uncle; maybe he'd have known a family life, too. 

But he was who he was. No amount of wishing had ever changed anything in his life, nor would it now. 

At last, Mr. Clayton-Burns sighed and said, "No more, my dear." 

"Time for your nap, darling," his grandson told him, and he nodded. Daniel and Jack instantly rose. "No, no. Please stay and finish your tea. I'll see Grandfather to his bed and then take you back." He helped his grandfather rise, lifting him bodily, and then carefully making sure his knees were locked so he could stand before they started a slow shuffle toward the door. Daniel and Jack both remained standing, watching them; Daniel's eyes slid to Jack, who came to stand next to him. 

When they were alone, they sat on the sofa, Jack sitting where Mr. Clayton-Burns had. "Did you learn anything?" he asked quietly. 

Did he? Daniel wasn't sure. After a few seconds, he said, "He knows something." He looked into Jack's face. "He says it's Upuaut, from Abydos, Jack." Jack shook his head. "The opener of the door to the underworld. I couldn't tell if he was speaking figuratively or literally. Either it's a serial murderer who's been active for decades, or else --" But he didn't know or else what. 

"Or else a Goa'uld?" Jack murmured almost inaudibly. 

"I don't know. He never used that term. I think, I think maybe he thinks it's something, um, supernatural." 

Jack didn't respond, which made Daniel feel both better and worse. He hadn't been laughed at, but he wasn't sure he wanted Jack to believe in the supernatural. 

Jack poured himself another cup of tea and took a tiny lemon sponge cake. "These are good," was all he said, and Daniel agreed. 

Nearly an hour passed before Clayton-Burns returned to them. Daniel was half dozing on the sofa, while Jack stood, hands in his pockets, and stared at the bric-a-brac filling the room. "I'm sorry to be so long," he told them, gleaming in the light streaming through the high windows. "Grandfather is asleep now. Have you found the facilities?" They assured him they had, and then followed him back out the long ambulatory to the waiting limo, the driver waiting attentively. 

"Mister Clayton-Burns," Daniel began, but he held up a manicured hand. 

"Please call me Robbie." 

"Robbie. Of course. Um. You know more about this than you've told us, don't you?" 

He stared at Daniel for a moment, and then curled his mouth into a slight smile. "Of course I do. Otherwise I would never have brought you to see my grandfather. He's a darling old boy, isn't he? I would never subject him to anything distressing." 

Daniel blushed a little, and said, "I didn't mean to imply that you would." 

"Nor did I infer that you would." They shared a quick grin, and Daniel saw Jack shift in his seat. "Yes, of course. I know you're not, for example, any blood relation to Uncle George. And I know who your friend Jack is. And though my grandfather may be right, perhaps he's your lover, that's not why he's with you here." Daniel's eyes flickered toward Jack, who looked neutral behind his sunglasses. "I also know you've seen your parents' friends, Doctor Stannard and Doctor Bertrand. And I know you've been visiting some of the poorer haras." 

"Do you know why?" Jack asked. 

"I think I do." Which meant, Daniel thought, that he most certainly did know. 

"What's happening?" Daniel asked softly. "Why has it gone on so long?" 

Robbie settled back into the seat, idly straightening the seam of his trousers. "My grandfather told me stories when I was a little boy," he began, and Daniel felt a sudden sharp longing to have similar memories. "He told me about Upuaut and how centuries ago he opened the door to the underworld. How certain people, usually poor and beautiful, are -- selected. Chosen. The Chosen Ones. Chosen to enter that door, from which they never return. Torn apart. Rather like the Bacchantes tore Pentheus apart. The most violent deaths are the holiest deaths, and appease the gods." 

Daniel studied Robbie carefully, wondering if he believed these things. 

"Through the centuries, Upuaut has come north, following the Nile. From Abydos, to Suhaq, to Al-Minya, to Bani Suwayf and Madinat al-Fayyum, and now to Giza. Soon to Cairo, we think. Eventually to Alexandria. And thence --" He shrugged. 

"We?" Jack asked sharply. 

Robbie shrugged. "We. My family, some friends. Perhaps a co-worker or two." 

"Perhaps," Daniel echoed. "But what's been done about it?" 

"What can be done?" 

Daniel was stymied. Clearly, Robbie knew something, but Daniel was bound by silence; he couldn't mention the Goa'uld. He didn't know how to frame the question that needed asking. 

He needed to see Bobbie and Dallie again, he realized. He found he was worrying his lower lip, frowning at nothing. He sighed and tried to relax. "Robbie. Do you have any advice for us? A suggestion on how we should proceed?" 

Robbie smiled at him. "I do, actually. Dear Daniel," and he leaned forward to take Daniel's hand; surprised, Daniel let him. "You must be very careful. Many people are watching you. When you think you are most alone, you are not. This vehicle is one of the few places in which you may speak freely." 

"Our hotel rooms?" he asked. 

"Not bugged," Jack said firmly. 

"No, not bugged," Robbie agreed. "Observed, though." Daniel remembered buying champagne for Jack their first night in Cairo, and blushed. No wonder people assumed they were lovers. "My advice is to go to Abydos. It all started there." 

"But so long ago. What can be there to find now? Whatever's taking people is in Giza, not in Abydos." 

Robbie released his hand and sat back. "Everything always begins in Abydos, Daniel. The Holy City. You know this." 

Everything begins in Abydos. Everything always begins in Abydos. Daniel nodded, and looked at Jack. They would go to Abydos, then. "Can you come with us?" 

Robbie shook his head. "I have my own work to do. And I will not be available for a little while. You'll be on your own." 

"Observed, though," Jack pointed out. 

"Observed," Robbie repeated calmly, as if it were to be expected. 

The ride back to the Mena House was long and silent. 

When they finally reached their rooms, Daniel asked, "Can we talk here, Jack? I don't know what to do. I'm not very good at this spy stuff." 

Jack smiled at him. "Don't underestimate yourself, Danny. You did fine. Give me a moment and I'll see what I can find." He began searching the rooms, very thoroughly; it would obviously take longer than a moment, so Daniel changed into shorts and a tee-shirt, wondering if he was being observed, and wondered if he dare write in his journal, the special one he'd brought to Cairo. Fuck it, he decided; he wanted to write about Uncle Robbie and to hell with whoever read it. 

He was hungry again when Jack finished and stood before him. "Well, I can't be one hundred percent sure without equipment, but I think we're okay. And Clayton-Burns said we were observed, not bugged. So yeah, I think we can talk." 

"Let's order room service first, then make a plan." 

"Burgers," Jack said instantly. "I'm sick of foreign food." Daniel smiled but didn't argue. Burgers and fries sounded pretty good. 

When the meal had been delivered and the waiter dismissed with a tip, they settled at the desk, television playing softly in the background. Daniel felt as if he were in John le Carre novel, but trusted Jack and, to a lesser extent, Robbie. "So we're going to Abydos?" Jack asked before biting into the hamburger. 

"I think we have to." Daniel poked at his french fries. "I wish I understood what was going on." 

Jack said, "Daniel, why are we here?" 

"To find out what's going on." 

"No. Let me ask you again, and this time think about it. Why are we here?" 

Daniel stared at him and then realized what he wanted. "To find out if there's a Goa'uld on earth." 

"And what do you think, now that you've met all these nice people?" 

"No. No, it's not a Goa'uld. They don't operate this way. Well, Seth kind of did, but even he wasn't actively murdering people." 

"So we've completed our mission." 

He tossed down a french fry. "Jack --" 

"Daniel." 

"No, Jack. We have to go to Abydos." 

"Why? We know it's not a Goa'uld. We can go home now, we've done what we came to do." 

"Maybe," he said stubbornly, feeling his jaw set. "But we've found out things. People are dying, Jack." He paused, and then said, "I'm going to Abydos, Jack. I'd like you to come with me." He looked away. 

Jack sighed heavily. "Dammit, Daniel." After a few seconds, he continued. "Eat your burger. We'll go." 

Daniel nodded, and obediently picked up his hamburger. "Needs more mustard." 

He lay in bed that night thinking of Abydos. The Holy City. He'd worked on an excavation there, years ago. Early paleolithic stuff, choppers and flakes, all in the Acheulian style, very elegant and gracefully made. It was hot and flat there; the air had felt like warm molasses, and time moved as slowly. The earliest-known tomb of a pharaoh had been found there, as had the oldest known hieroglyphics. 

And Upuaut prowled there, the jackal god, guarding The Holy City and leading the dying to the golden staircase that led to the afterworld. Later, Osiris came to prominence, but Upuaut was first and still holiest. 

Who was Upuaut? Daniel didn't know anymore. The Goa'uld took the names of the ancient ones and perverted them, so the beloved Osiris became a monster, and the genius Imhotep a backwater god having to masquerade as a Jaffa. He didn't believe that Upuaut was a Goa'uld. He didn't know what Upuaut was, except something to fear. 

Just one more thing to fear. 

He slept poorly, and woke early, determined to talk to General Hammond before proceeding; he hadn't heard back from him since they'd last spoken. He also wanted to see Bobbie and Dallie again. He rose and went to find a phone to call Colorado Springs. It would be the middle of the night there, but that was better -- he didn't want to call the SGC. He left Jack a note, and walked out the gates of the Mena House onto the Sharia al-Haram, already teeming in the relative cool of the morning. He pushed his way through the crowd, expertly avoiding the more blatant groping, heading toward the rack of pay phones at the Ticket Office to the Pyramids of Giza. 

He had to wait a while for a free phone, and spent the time looking around, wondering if he was being observed even now and, if so, by whom. But the only people who seemed to be paying him any attention were those wanting him to hire them as guides, or to sell him tacky statues of King Tut, or one guy with holographic nasty postcards. He ignored them and stared at the line ahead of him. 

Eventually, he got a phone, and dialed General Hammond's home number. A very sleepy voice answered. "Uncle George? This is Daniel. I'm sorry to wake you. Can you hear me okay?" 

"Daniel? Son, what's wrong? Where are you?" 

"In Cairo. No, nothing's wrong. Just missed you." 

"And I miss you." Daniel heard the smile in the general's voice. 

"Uncle, may I speak freely?" 

There was a long pause, and then the general said hesitantly, "To an extent. Be as circumspect as you can." 

"Yes, sir. Um." He scratched the back of his neck. Now that he had George on the phone, he really wasn't sure what to say. "Uncle George, I met your friend Robbie yesterday." 

"Did you? How is that rascal?" 

"Well, fine. Kind of. I'm sorry to tell you that he's had a stroke." 

"Oh my god. How bad is he?" 

"Well, okay, I guess. He's really thin and frail looking. The right side of his body was affected, but his mind seemed okay. He can walk, with help. His grandson takes care of him. Do you remember him? He has the same name as Uncle Robbie?" 

" Be careful, Daniel. I've heard some things about that boy." 

"That's what I'm calling about. Is he a liar?" 

"Oh, son. We're all liars, to a certain extent. What did he tell you?" 

"He said that it wasn't, um, it wasn't what we were afraid it was." There was a long pause; Daniel could tell that General Hammond was trying to formulate his next question. He took pity on him. "He didn't use that word. The, uh, the G word. I don't think he knows about them." 

"Good." He sounded very relieved. "What does he think it is?" 

"I'm not sure. He wouldn't come out and say. He told me to go to Abydos, though. And Uncle Robbie told me it was Upuaut." 

"Shit." 

"Uncle George?" Daniel wasn't sure if he'd ever heard the general swear before. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine, but I'm worried about you. Listen, where are you? It sounds awfully noisy there." 

"I'm outside, near the pyramids at Giza. I wasn't sure what phone to use." 

"Good idea. Good idea. Daniel, I can't talk on this phone, and I'm not sure how to get you to a secure one, so I want you to listen closely. 

"I don't know anything. But years and years ago, I heard, uh, things. From Robbie." General Hammond sighed. "Be careful, Daniel. I wish Robbie were in better shape; he might've been able to help you. I really don't remember much. Just that he said it had all started in Abydos." Daniel felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. "Are you thinking about going to Abydos?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"You take Jack with you, if you go. And be careful. I'm not sure why you don't just come home, if you've got the answer you were looking for." 

"Well, I have _one_ answer." 

Another pause, and then the general said, "You've always been thorough and conscientious. But sometimes you can be obsessive, too. Which is it this time, Daniel?" 

He thought about that, starting to sweat as the heat of the day grew and the crowd pressed around him. "A little of both, I think, sir." 

"If anything happens to you, I'll be very upset. I want you to promise me to think before you do anything, and to take care of yourself. And I want you to promise me that you'll listen to Jack." 

"Yes, sir." Daniel realized he sounded a little sulky. "I wish you could tell me what you're afraid will happen." 

"I'm afraid you'll end up like the others," General Hammond said tartly, and Daniel heard the unvoiced "you idiot." 

"I'll try not to." 

"Good boy. Daniel, listen to me." But there was only silence, the hiss of long distance filling his ear. At last, the general said, "You're making an assumption that it's not what we feared. Now you want to know what it is. But whatever it is has been there a long time. A very long time. I wish I had remembered this before you left. It's too late now. But remember, Daniel. You know better than anyone else that monsters do walk the earth. Do you understand me?" 

"I think so. Uncle George, who is Robbie's grandson? Can I trust him?" 

"Trust only Jack. His grandson is . . ." The general hesitated. "A little like our friend Harry." Maybourne? A spy? Well, that's what Jack had said. "Now, it's late and I'm an old man who needs his sleep. Is there anything else?" 

"No, sir. I'm sorry I woke you --" 

"It's all right. I'm glad to hear your voice. Your friends will be glad to learn you're all right, too; we've been worrying." 

"Uncle George, I don't know how to thank you --" 

"It's all right," he said again. "You can thank me by coming home safe and sound. You tell Jack that I told you to listen to him, all right?" 

"Yes, sir. Except that'll make him insufferable." 

"Oh, and he isn't already? You can handle him. Take care of yourself, nephew." 

"Thank you, Uncle George. Bye-bye." He hung up reluctantly, wishing that George really was his uncle. Then he was pushed aside by the man behind him waiting for the phone, and started the hike back to Mena House. He could swim and cool off, then he'd make arrangements for his and Jack's trip to Abydos, and go visit Bobbie and Dallie. 

Jack was up, sipping coffee and reading _The Times_ when he returned. "Where ya been?" he asked, and by the casual tone, Daniel knew he was pissed. 

"I walked to the entrance to the pyramids to use the phone there, to call the general. Kind of reported in." 

"And you didn't think I should go with you?" 

He stared at Jack, sitting at the breakfast table, looking handsome and idle and furious. "I'm sorry, Jack. Seems like that's all I've done today is apologize, but I am sorry. I thought it would be safe, and it was. See?" He spread his arms. "I'm back, safe and sound." 

"Daniel, I want you to start taking this seriously. Just because it might not be a Goa'uld doesn't mean it isn't dangerous." 

"I know that, Jack. How many people have been taken by this thing?" 

"As long as it hasn't taken you, quite frankly I don't give a fuck." 

Daniel was a little taken aback by that, but rallied. "Well, I do give a fuck. I want to find out what's been going on. And I'd like your help. Will you help me, Jack?" 

Jack gazed back evenly at him. "I will if you let me. And by that I mean you keep me posted and don't go runnin' off when I'm asleep." 

He sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee. "I promise, Jack. Besides," and he grinned, "I just swore to General Hammond that I'd listen to you. Can you imagine? But I did promise." 

"You did? Cool. Of course, I notice you didn't promise George to obey me." 

"Well, we're not getting married, so, no. To love, honor, and obey wasn't mentioned at all." 

"Damn." 

They smiled at each other across the table, and Daniel selected a croissant to go with his coffee. "Listen, Jack. I want to say goodbye to Bobbie and Dallie before we leave. Do you mind? Do you want to come with me?" 

"Sure. I liked them. We should bring them some gifts. Food, maybe. Something." 

"Yeah, that'd be great. I'll call them and make arrangements. And I'll make the arrangements to get to Abydos." 

"You can do that here, you know, in the room." 

"I know. And I will. But I want to go swimming first." 

Jack nodded. "After your breakfast settles. I'll go with you." 

"Ja-ack." 

"Daniel. Did it occur to you that I might like to swim, too?" 

"Oh. No. Sorry." 

Jack gave him another look and then returned to his paper. 

He made arrangements to meet at Bobbie and Dallie's apartment that evening, and told them that he and Jack would bring dinner. A little before they were scheduled to arrive, they went to Mr. Soueeif's again, where Dallie had taken Jack, but this time Jack and Mr. Soueeif had a long conversation, and quite a bit of money exchanged hands as Daniel watched and drank mint tea. 

When they left a little while later, he asked what happened. "That's an expensive dinner you bought." 

"Oh, not too bad. His sons will deliver it in a little while. I also arranged for him to deliver meals regularly." 

"Jack." Daniel stopped right in the crowded street. "That's -- I can't believe you did that. Thank you. I want to help pay." He began digging in his pockets. 

"Not here, Daniel. And good, that'd be great. We can make sure those two old ladies are eating well. Bobbie looked a little thin to me." 

"Yeah," Daniel said sadly, remembering being carried in Bobbie's arms, tossed into the air by Dallie and caught so securely that he'd never feared falling. "Thank you," he said again, and they walked to the ladies' apartment building. 

"Darlings!" Dallie greeted them, smoke streaming from her stained fingertips. She carefully held the cigarette away from them as she hugged first Daniel and then Jack. "Bobbie, my love, look who's back." 

"Hello, young Danny," she smiled up at him as he bent to kiss her, and then she took Jack's hand. "Welcome back." 

"I'm glad to be back, ma'am," he said. 

"Ooh, I love that cowboy talk," Dallie said, and shepherded them through to the small comfortable room they'd spent the evening in last time. "Your poison?" 

"We come bearing gifts," Daniel said, and pulled out a sweaty bottle of champagne. He hadn't seen his friends since he was a little boy; he wanted to splurge on them. 

"Champers! Young Danny, you've grown up to be a gentleman!" Dallie kissed him soundly and sailed away with the bottle, which she opened like a pro, not a bubble escaping. Jack had also brought brandy, which he tucked away behind their bar, Dallie smiling at him while Daniel watched approvingly. 

"Now that we're lubricated, we want to hear all about your adventures in Cairo." 

"Well. Let's see. We saw the pyramids at night, with this like laser show thingy. Uhh, we saw the Citadel. What else did we do, Daniel?" 

Daniel rolled his eyes; it cracked him up when Jack played dumb, but he didn't want his friends to think it was true. "We've been investigating the disappearances." 

Bobbie sat up in her wheelchair. "What did you find?" 

"Someone was taken two days ago. And we've been told that it's Upuaut." 

Bobbie and Dallie glanced at each other. "From Abydos," Dallie said, and Daniel nodded. She sighed. "It always starts in Abydos." 

"Why?" Jack asked, and all three of them looked up at him. "What always starts in Abydos, and why?" 

"It's the holiest city in Egypt," Dallie said, and Daniel recognized her lecture voice. "In all of Saharan Africa, really. It's the eldest, too, and the most beautiful, and the least disturbed by tourists and traffic." 

Jack shrugged. "So?" 

"Upuaut is from Abydos." 

Daniel bit his lip; he knew Jack had little patience for this sort of thing. "Uh, Jack. I think Dallie is trying to say that --" 

"Young Danny, I am not so senile that I need someone to speak for me just yet," she interrupted him, and he blushed. "What don't you understand, Jack?" 

"Why does it all start in Abydos?" 

Dallie sat quietly for nearly a minute, and then said, "Abydos is the Eve of cities, Jack. Eldest, holiest, most beautiful, and the entrance to the afterworld. We begin in Abydos, and we end in Abydos." 

"And this Upuaut guy?" 

Dallie glanced at Bobbie, who was still holding Daniel's hand. "Son of Anubis. The jackal god who takes us to through death to the afterworld." 

"He harvests humans?" 

Dallie and Bobbie both looked at Jack. "That's an odd word to use, Jackie," Dallie told him. "We're humans, not brussels sprouts." 

He shrugged. "Just an expression." But his eyes flicked up to meet Daniel's for an instant. And not an expression they'd heard, Daniel knew he meant. That was more confirmation. Perhaps. 

Daniel finally said, "Do you believe that Upuaut literally is taking humans?" 

After a moment, Bobbie said, "Young Danny, Upuaut is from ancient Egyptian mythology. You know Dallie and I are both Episcopalians." 

Jack smiled. "Nice side-stepping the answer, Bobbie." 

There was a longer silence, but before anyone could speak, someone knocked on the door. Jack and Dallie answered it, and in came Mr. Soueeif's three sons, carrying bags and boxes that smelled heavenly. Daniel's stomach growled, and he realized he hadn't eaten since breakfast. 

Bowl after bowl of mezze appeared, salads and dips and little meat pies and stuffed vegetables and minced lamb, and wonderful flatbread The young men served them, too, and promised to return to clean up. Bobbie and Dallie were flattered at the attention of all the men in their flat, even Dallie blushing when Jack insisted she sit and let herself be waited on. Daniel watched him approvingly, and then smiled at Bobbie when she caught his eye. 

"He _is_ a good 'un," she whispered to him, and squeezed his hand over a bowl of kushari. 

It was late when the detritus of their meal was put away, and Daniel saw that both his old friends were tired. But Jack gave him a look, and then settled back down on the sofa next to Dallie. 

"What is it, Jackie?" she finally asked. 

"We're going to Abydos," he reminded them, and she nodded, glancing at Bobbie. "Please tell us all you know." 

"It isn't much," she warned, but he made a rolling gesture with his hand: Go on, go on. "We've lived here a long time. Since before Danny was born," and she smiled at him. "There's no real conspiracy, I assure you. But we were concerned. Who told us, darling?" 

Bobbie said, "Oh, dear. It was that artist, remember? He painted the fellaheen so beautifully." 

"Edward Thistle, of course. How could I forget Teddy?" 

"Where is he now?" Jack asked her. 

"Oh, Teddy died donkey's years ago. Murdered, actually. By one of his subjects, I believe. Do you remember, Bobbie?" 

"Yes, of course. And that was only a theory, because he'd been killed while he was painting. Unfortunately, the portrait was too incomplete to identify the subject. Poor dear. Such a lovely man." 

"Yes, Teddy told us. We were at Aswan, where he had a studio of sorts. Quite a lovely place, as I recall." 

"How had he heard about the killings if they started at Abydos and went north? Aswan is quite a bit south of Abydos," Daniel asked. 

Dallie shrugged and lit another cigarette; he waited patiently for her to inhale. "He had close ties to the floating artist colonies. In the fifties, it was all the rage to live aboard a felucca and paint. I believe one of your mother's cousins did." 

"That's right," Bobbie said. "Claire's grandmother's sister's daughter. A second cousin once removed, I think that is. We never met her, but Teddy and Claire had her in common. She painted at Abu Tig, I think." 

Daniel looked at Jack; how could they remember stuff from so long ago? But Jack was watching Dallie. 

"So this Teddy guy had heard from the artists living along the Nile that, uh, fellaheen were being killed? By some, ah, uh, by some monster?" 

Dallie blew a puff of smoke at him derisively. "Yes, Jackie-love. By some monster." They stared at each other. "Do you believe in monsters?" 

After a moment, Jack said, "Yes, I do." 

Dallie nodded. "Good boy." She poured him more araq. "So do I. I'm nearly eighty years old. I've seen more wars, more death, than any one person should have to. There are human monsters; we can all agree to that. But here, in the desert, I believe there are --" She looked at Bobbie. 

"Egypt is a very old land," Bobbie took up. "You know that, dear one." She patted Daniel's hand. "We heard a bit about your theories, you know, before you disappeared. Dallie said you were on to something. Didn't you, Dallie?" 

"I did, and he was. Anyone who's worked out here as long as I have knows that we _don't_ know who built the pyramids, nor why. I can make some guesses, but I have a feeling young Danny knows more than he can say. Is that true, Jackie?" Jack smiled at her, but didn't reply. "You are a wise child." 

There was silence in the apartment, except for the street sounds floating in through the open windows. At last, Daniel said, "Can you tell us anything more?" 

Dallie shook her head. "Just guesses and superstition. We're just two silly old ladies, forgotten by most of our family and left living long after most of our friends." 

"Including your darling parents," Bobbie added, her voice thick, and Daniel took her hand. "Melburne was a good man, Danny. He loved you so much. That's why he took you and Claire off to Al-Uqsar. He thought there was some -- some evil in Lower Egypt. He wanted you to be safe." Her voice broke, and Daniel gingerly took her into his arms. She was as frail as a bird. He lay his head against her bony shoulder; she smelled of old lady and Chanel and Dallie's smoke. He sighed, and she sniffed and pulled back. "Be careful, young Danny," she told him, and he nodded. 

"And you, too, Jackie," Dallie added. Jack looked at Daniel. 

"We should go," he said, and the moment was broken. Daniel kissed both ladies, and they kissed Jack. 

The men were silent as they made their way down the street, looking for a taxi to hail. Only when Daniel had completed the necessary negotiations and they were seated in the torn leather back seat did Jack say anything. "What do we know?" 

Daniel shrugged. "Not very much." 

"Do you think it's some ancient --" He stopped and looked out the passenger window away from Daniel. "Some ancient evil? Migrating north?" 

Daniel watched him closely. How much had it cost Jack to ask that question? Was he frightened? If Jack were frightened, he knew he should be terrified. Instead, he reached out and set his hand on Jack's knee. "It might well be," he agreed softly. "We need to be sure it isn't a," and he dropped his voice, "a Goa'uld. Beyond that, I'd like to know." 

"If it isn't a Goa'uld," Jack said just as softly, "then we go home. The authorities know. Everybody seems to know. We can't help anyone here, Danny." He put his hand on top of Daniel's; they rode the rest of the way through Cairo like that, finding comfort, Daniel thought, in each other's presence. All these millions of people around them, but they had only each other. 

The next morning, Daniel sprang his surprise on Jack. He had arranged for a taxi to take them to the waterfront. Jack knew they were leaving for a few days and had packed, but stopped when he saw the taxi. "We're takin' a taxi to Abydos? Isn't that a little expensive?" 

"Not all the way to Abydos," Daniel said, smiling behind his sunglasses in the brilliant morning light. He could tell it was going to be an especially hot day, and the humidity was rising around them like steam in a sauna. He didn't remember Cairo being humid, but it had been a while since he'd lived here. 

When the taxi dropped them off and they'd lugged their bags down to the wharf, Daniel pointed out the sixty-foot modified felucca he'd hired, the Royal Cleopatra. "You are fucking kidding me," Jack said in a stunned voice. 

"Nope. That's ours for the next few days." 

"Holy shit." He started toward it, carrying his duffel. "Sweet, Daniel. Very sweet." 

"I hope so. There are two state rooms, each with their own bath, queen sized bed, and big picture window. There are two sundecks, a salon, and a bar." 

"I can't believe we're sailing _up_ the Nile. Jesus." He turned to look at Daniel. "This is the best surprise I've ever had. I mean it, Daniel. I don't know how to thank you." 

Daniel blushed with pleasure. "Well, you said you wanted to go fishing." 

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." 

Someone appeared at the bow and Daniel shouted, "Hello!" 

"Doctor Jackson? Right on time! Come aboard." Once they'd climbed the gangway, he said, "I'm Captain Sampras. Welcome, welcome. You must be Mister O'Neill, yes?" 

"Yes." They shook hands. "Welcome aboard, gentlemen. Robert here will show you to your rooms, and then there's a late breakfast waiting for you in the salon. We can leave whenever you like and, as your captain, I suggest we do so immediately." 

"Of course," Daniel said, smiling so hard he felt foolish. Finally, they were here. He'd had such a good time planning this trip, hoping Jack would enjoy it, wanting to repay him for his friendship and kindness over the years. 

Within minutes Jack was in Daniel's stateroom. "Daniel, I can't let you pay for this. This is way, way beyond luxurious." 

"Well, it's the off season, Jack, so it's not as expensive as you might think. And what the hell else do I have to spend my money on? Might as well enjoy it." 

"I never even took you to dinner, though, and I promised to." 

"Oh, you will, and your Amex might never recover. That's down in Alexandria, though." He smiled at Jack shyly, pleased that he seemed to be enjoying the surprise. 

"Jesus." Jack sat in one of the wicker chairs by the large open window; Daniel came to stand next to him and they watched the shore recede as the felucca pulled away, a small engine grumbling. "We should get some breakfast, see what's going on on deck." 

Once they were well south of Cairo, the sails were unfurled and the stinky diesel engine shut off. Neither Jack nor Daniel were sailors, so most of the activities were mysterious to them, but they sat on the sundeck and watched the banks of the Nile slide by, as people had done for thousands of years. 

The shore was intensely green, but not far beyond it the desert loomed, a rosy gold in the morning light but turning brilliant white as the sun rose higher and the day grew hotter. Robert, the youngest crew member, fetched them lemonade and bottled water, urging them not to get dehydrated in the heat. "The breeze sucks it right out of you," he explained earnestly, and they obeyed, which meant they spent a fair amount of time traipsing to and from the head. 

But mostly they lounged. The first day, Daniel didn't read or even write in his journal; he just watched and rested. There were thick mats on the sundeck, and he left his chair to lie on one, resting his head on an arm and watching the unreality of the vivid blue water mirror the impossibly blue sky. His parents had sailed here, and Cleopatra with Antony, and Tuthankhamun, and Imhotep. So many of the worlds Daniel visited were uninhabited or sparsely inhabited; it was wonderful to imagine the aeons of life that had created this moment for him here in Egypt. 

Daniel fell asleep after a while, and dreamt of his parents, sitting in deck chairs, holding hands, smiling at each other in the lulling heat of the day. 

Daniel reveled in not having to feel guilty for not working. There literally was nothing for him to do but eat and rest. He read and wrote a little; talked desultorily with Jack about the sights, but gave himself permission to drift in a way he hadn't since he'd left Abydos to search for Sha'uri. 

He missed Abydos, too, on this voyage. The company of Sha'uri, of course; her fierce intelligence and intense sensuality had quite overwhelmed him, and all these years later, he still felt a physical pain at her loss. But also Skaare's wonderful company; he could make Daniel playful in a way no one else ever had, not even Jack. And Kasuf, for philosophical conversation. He missed his friends and family. 

He went to bed early that first night aboard the felucca, content to lie in bed with the window open and the cool air of the Nile sweetly stroking his body. He lay nude on the big bed, big enough to share with a lover, and touched himself, imagining it was Sha'uri's hand stroking him, playing with his nipples, tugging at his pubic hair. His penis rose into his hand and he rolled his head back, almost in pain from his desire for company. For a lover. For someone to touch him. 

When he'd come and had recovered enough to tidy himself and straighten the bed, he lay on his side and watched the desert gleam in the pale light of a waxing moon. The Royal Cleopatra sailed as long as there was breeze enough to take her south, and the motion lulled him into a lonely sleep. 

Their second day aboard the Royal Cleopatra was much like the first. It was windy, so they made good time, the sails taut above them. Daniel and Jack spent most of the day on the sundeck, which was really very shady, and that day Daniel did catch up with his journal and studied the notes he'd made from his mother's research into whatever phenomenon was responsible for all the mutilation and death. 

It was impossibly quiet. In Cheyenne Mountain, there was always the sound of the air conditioning rushing through the ducts, of equipment being run or tuned or taken apart, of the fluorescent lighting humming, and the hundreds and hundreds of personnel talking, endlessly talking. Here, there was only the sound of the wind in the sheets, the water against the bow, an occasional comment from the captain or crew, the tinkle of ice in a glass. Jack stared thoughtfully out over the water, his face hidden behind his sunglasses, as silent as Daniel in the heat of the day. 

They stayed up a little later that night, watching the sky fill with stars, so many they looked like milk in a bowl. Daniel lay on his back and thought again of how many millions of souls had watched them, too. Souls now gone, vanished, leaving only their graffiti or a pyramid to mark their presence on the earth. 

He went to bed relaxed and a little melancholy, saying goodnight to Jack and patting him on the shoulder as he headed below to his stateroom. Watching the new moon mirrored in the water of the Nile, he slipped into sleep, dreaming of love. 

"Daniel," someone whispered, and he turned suddenly. 

"Sha'uri?" 

"No, I'm sorry. It's Jack." 

"Jack." Oh god, he was naked. Well, shit. Jack had seen him in the shower often enough. "What's wrong? Are you sick? Did you drink the water?" 

"No, I'm fine, I'm fine. Listen, Daniel, can you wake up a bit?" 

"I'm awake." He rubbed his eyes and sat up, pulling the sheet across his lap. Jack was kneeling on the bed; he could feel the heat from his body spilling off him. "What is it?" 

Jack sat down, favoring his bad knee. "Just. Listen. Daniel, I don't know how to say this." He stopped and looked down. Daniel could barely see him in the reflected moonlight. His grey hair was silver, and when he looked at Daniel, his eyes were dark pools in his pale face. 

Daniel cautiously reached out and touched Jack's face, stubbly with beard. Jack sighed, and relaxed into his touch. Daniel wondered if this meant what he wanted it to. He was terrified and exhilarated at the thought. They stared at each other, Daniel's hand resting lightly on Jack's familiar face, until Daniel's arm grew tired. He licked his lips nervously. Fuck. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he had decided. "Lie down with me," Daniel whispered, astounded at his own words, but Jack did. He slid his long legs under the sheets and laid his body next to Daniel's. 

Daniel felt so tender toward Jack at that moment. He loved Jack so much. This trip was meant to show Jack how much he appreciated him, and he smiled to himself; guess it worked. His heart was racing, with desire and a little fear. "Whatever you want," he whispered. 

Jack moved a little closer to Daniel, and then lightly touched him with his foot. "Hey," he said. 

"Hey." They playfully pushed at each other's feet a little, smiling, and then Daniel hugged Jack, drawing him to his body, painfully aware that he was nude and that he was growing erect. Jack groaned and leaned heavily against Daniel. He sighed and then touched Daniel's dick, which jumped, making them laugh. "Jack, you don't have to do this." 

"What if I want to?" 

"Then I want you to." 

"Cool." His hand was warm on Daniel, lightly touching him, and then he grasped Daniel firmly. 

"Wait, wait," Daniel said, and put his hand on Jack's side, then slid it under his shorts. He was bony and his skin soft and warm and sweaty. He touched Jack's dick, and they began to masturbate each other. Jack groaned again, and rested his forehead against Daniel's. 

"God, you feel so good, Danny. I wanted this for so long." 

"I wanted this, too, Jack." But Daniel wanted more; every teenage boy had jerked off another, at one time in his life. He demanded more. He lifted his head and looked into Jack's dark eyes, and then kissed him. 

For a moment, he thought Jack would refuse, but then his mouth opened under Daniel's and he tasted Jack, warm and toothpasty. God, he tasted good, Daniel thought. To his pleasure, Jack rolled on top of him, trusting him to bear his weight. They kissed and rocked against each other, then Daniel pushed Jack's shorts down, and Jack kicked them off. 

He couldn't believe he was making love to Jack. He'd never allowed himself to fantasize this. Always, he remembered Sha'uri, only Sha'uri, when he touched himself. But he'd wake some nights, wet with his come, and know he'd been dreaming of Jack's mouth on him, his hands touching him. And now Jack _was_ touching him, kissing him, groaning into his mouth, aroused by lying in bed next to him. It was everything he'd ever wanted, and more than he ever dreamt of, to have Jack in his bed instead of the ghost of Sha'uri. 

"Daniel. Daniel." He realized Jack had been whispering his name. "Oh, Christ, Daniel." Jack was going to come on him, he knew, and kissed him harder, touching his ass and then slipping over the moist skin to touch his asshole. Jack thrust hard against him and gasped, then came, his orgasm sounding almost painful. "Fuck," he whispered, and relaxed. 

Daniel was still hard as a rock, but he was a patient man, archaeologists had to be, and he waited to see what Jack would do next. After a few minutes, he sighed heavily and raised his head. "I must be crushing you." 

"No. I like you just where you are." Jack stared down at him, then kissed him, passionately. He knew how to kiss, too, as if he'd studied what Daniel liked -- not forcing his tongue into Daniel's mouth, but playing lightly with him, licking his lips, kissing them, nuzzling them, before slipping his tongue into Daniel's mouth again, letting Daniel suck on him and kiss and lick him back. 

Daniel grew more excited and began to thrash under Jack, who reached down and fondled his balls, fingering them carefully but firmly. He _must've_ studied what I like, Daniel thought hazily; how could he know these things? Then he put his hand around Daniel's dick again, and began to move down Daniel's body. Daniel realized he was going to suck him off, which made him so excited that he came nearly the moment Jack's mouth stretched around him. 

When Jack moved back up to kiss him, Daniel tasted his own come in Jack's mouth and thought: The world can end now. I have all I ever wanted. They kissed for a long time, until both grew hard again, and did everything again. 

It was late when they finally fell asleep, Jack curled up against Daniel, who rested his head on Jack's shoulder and watched the banks of the eternal Nile move past them. Please god, Daniel thought, more than half asleep; let me have another night of Jack. Another night of Jack's breath against his cheek, his heart beating against Daniel's chest, another night of someone so alive and vibrant in his bed and in his life. 

He woke with the sun streaming in the window; it was too hot to stay below much longer. Jack was there, sitting in the wicker chair by the window, his hair sticking out in all directions, sipping orange juice. "Good morning," Daniel said, his throat froggy. 

Jack smiled. 

"Are you, um, okay?" 

Jack set the orange juice down and came back to their bed. "Are you?" 

"Oh, god, Jack." He stared into Jack's eyes. "Please tell me you're okay with this. Did I just fuck up our friendship?" 

"Did I?" 

"No, god, no. No." 

"No. You didn't fuck anything up. You just gave me the courage to, uh. Well." 

Daniel smiled. "I should have been giving you expensive gifts years ago, hunh?" 

"I guess." Jack looked embarrassed. "I didn't, uh. Not to pay you back, you know." 

"I never thought that." 

"Kay. Just. You know. The timing kind of sucks." 

"Well, where else? Off world? In your office?" Jack smiled. "I didn't hope for this, Jack. I couldn't let myself hope for it. But I wanted it." 

"Cool." Jack shyly kissed him. "Got a whole pitcher of OJ here. And no offense, but you could use a shower." 

"Oh, and you couldn't." 

"No argument." 

They showered together, since Daniel had a private bath; it was crowded, but fun. Daniel couldn't keep his hands off Jack, and wondered how they'd get through the day, in the semi-public salon and sundeck. 

They managed. Daniel knew they were exchanging goofy smiles and that they were flirting more than ever, but he figured anybody who rented to the public as often as Captain Sampras did had probably seen everything and become shock-proof. Still, he was a little shy, and both men were careful in front of the crew. 

Daniel knew they had to have a serious conversation before they left the Royal Cleopatra, but they had two days to go. He was determined to enjoy every moment of those two days. He'd spent most of his life worrying; a few minutes of pleasure were far overdue. If this gift was fleeting, he would be able to remember every second of it when it ended. 

Jack never went to his stateroom the next night, but came below with Daniel. As soon as they were behind the door, he embraced Daniel, touching his face tenderly, but they grew more frenzied and their second night together was a fierce collision. Daniel wondered if they'd fuck, but he didn't have the courage to suggest it, and Jack was too busy exploring his body, licking everything -- his ears, his neck, his nipples, his belly, his balls, behind his knees, his toes, and at last his asshole. Daniel yelped and spread his legs, tilting his pelvis to give Jack better access. 

Jack took his legs and gently eased him onto his stomach, then pushed so he was up on his knees, his butt in the air, and went back to rimming him thoroughly, while fingering his balls with a confident hand. Daniel twisted his hands in the sheets and moaned, pushing back. "You like this," Jack whispered, coming up for air, and Daniel nodded, a little ashamed. "So do I," Jack said, and Daniel decided that meant Jack wanted it, too, so he raised up to his knees and pushed Jack onto his back, carefully bending Jack's legs, so his knees wouldn't have to bear his weight, and went down on him: his dick, his balls, and his hole. Jack cried out so loudly Daniel knew the crew had to have heard, but he didn't stop until Jack came, splattering Daniel's face with his come. "Wow," Jack gasped. "I think you better fuck me." 

"Christ," Daniel said, and lay on top of Jack, still cautious of his knees. "Later, later." And he rubbed against Jack's hot sweaty thigh until he came, collapsing on top of Jack because he knew he could take his weight. 

"Why didn't we do this at the Mena House, when we had that great air conditioning?" 

"You never gave me a hint you wanted to," Daniel protested, but Jack just kissed him. 

"It's okay, Danny. We've got the rest of our lives." 

"Do we?" Daniel leaned back, looking at him anxiously. "Seriously, Jack. Do we? Is this what you want? Because I do," he added in a rush. 

Jack pulled him down to hug, even though it was far too hot. "We have as long as you want." He was hot with life, pulsing with it, nearly overwhelming Daniel as he shuddered with pleasure. 

Daniel closed his eyes in relief. They slept for a while, and then woke to make love again, this time slower and gentler, a quiet mutual masturbation while they stared into each other's eyes. 

"I think I've had more sex in the last two days than I've had in the last two years," Jack said when they woke the next morning. It was another hot and steamy day; Daniel felt too enervated to get up. 

"Me, too," he said sleepily. "Feel like we gotta get in as much as we can, though." 

"Yeah." He kissed Daniel, a slow, thoughtful kiss. "Never enough, Danny. Not with you. Never enough." Daniel thought his heart would melt, as he lay in bed, arms around Jack's shoulders as he stooped over him to kiss him tenderly before they reluctantly rose for breakfast. 

They spent their last full day on the Cleopatra watching the banks of the Nile and other cruise ships on the river. Most were going downstream in the opposite direction, but a few larger ships were heading south, and a few small felucca were out fishing. Jack watched those especially closely, Daniel saw. 

"We should probably arrive at Al-Ballyana around two tomorrow morning," Captain Sampras told them over dinner. "The moon is so bright and the breeze so strong, we'll sail the rest of the way rather than tying up tonight." He poured himself a little more wine and offered the bottle to Daniel, who shook his head. 

"It's been a wonderful cruise, Captain," he said sincerely, and Jack nodded. 

"You have had a happy time, I think," he smiled, and Daniel felt himself blush. 

"Very happy," he agreed, but didn't dare look at Jack. 

They were making love when the felucca pulled into the port of Al-Ballyana, Daniel lying on top of Jack, slick with sweat despite the open windows. They felt and heard the little engine kick on and then a different sensation as the motor pushed them into the harbor. Jack kissed Daniel's neck and ear slowly and lasciviously as the crew tied up; Daniel felt in a dream, to be so near to Abydos, lying in Jack's arm. Then he returned his attention to Jack's body, wanting to make this night a special one. 

They woke early to the noise of the dock: many voices and many languages, engines large and small, lines splashing against the tie-offs, and water birds begging for food. Daniel didn't want to leave; he wanted to live aboard the Cleopatra and be cared for by her crew and captain, but eventually, after many kisses, Jack and Daniel climbed out of their bed for the last time, dressed, packed, and went up for their last meal aboard. 

Captain Sampras had arranged a very special one, too, with an old-fashioned British breakfast of smoked kippers, fried tomatoes, crisp bacon, and thick slices of buttery toast. It was too much, and Daniel was tipsy from the pleasure and all the carbohydrates when they finally said goodbye to the crew, tipping them exuberantly and waving farewell as they went to the taxi that had already been arranged for them. 

"Daniel," Jack said when they were settled in the taxi and heading west toward Abydos, "That was the best gift I've ever been given. Thank you." And right there in the taxi, he kissed Daniel. Not a rare sight in Arab culture, Daniel knew, but this was Jack, and he blushed with pleasure. He wasn't sure if Jack meant the felucca trip or Daniel's love, and was too shy to ask, but whatever made Jack happy made Daniel happy, too. 

And so they came to Abydos, first and holiest of cities. Daniel hadn't been there in years, but everything looked exactly the same. His parents had probably been here, he realized. Maybe traveling with Bobbie and Dallie, or perhaps on their honeymoon. He wondered where he'd been conceived, and decided he'd like it to have been in Abydos. 

It was very hot. They left their luggage with the taxi driver, since there weren't any accommodations for tourists at Abydos. Daniel had made reservations for them in Dendarah; he hadn't told Jack that the temple there was dedicated to Hathor. 

They first wandered through the beautiful Temple of Sethos, three thousand years old. The colors of some of the reliefs were still vivid, and Daniel spent a long time reading the List of Kings that traced Seti's ancestors from King Menes on. 

"What is this place?" Jack asked, nearly whispering. 

"It has a magic feel, doesn't it," Daniel agreed. "I've seen local women circling the pool of the Osireion, which we'll see in a minute, and until a few years ago, Umm Seti lived here, an English mystic." He gazed around him at the white limestone and the reliefs carved and painted on it. "Something remains." 

Jack nodded, but said nothing more, not even to make a joke of Umm Seti. He must feel the power of the place as well, Daniel decided. 

They ate a late lunch from their packed supplies; Daniel had refused to bring MREs, but they had granola bars, bottled juice, a bag of mixed nuts, plus some battered bananas, still edible. After their picnic, they dozed in the shade of one of the temple walls. It was so quiet that Daniel could hear his pulse in his ears, and Jack's quiet snores. 

He pulled out his journal, the one he'd bought in Colorado Springs so long ago, and began to write, describing what they'd seen that day. "I don't know what I hope to find here," he ended. "Whatever is killing people is in Giza; we know that. Yet here we are, hundreds of miles away, and why? Because Abydos, we were told, is where it all begins. And so we wait for night, whatever that might bring." 

When he looked up from writing, Jack was awake and watching him, a half-smile on his face. "Hey," he said softly, and Jack leaned forward to kiss him gently. 

The sun was long in setting; it was nearly midsummer, almost the longest day of the year. They moved away from the temple until they could see the sun as it hovered over the western horizon, molten and wavering. It gleamed gold and then red as it slid behind the earth, and then, with an abruptness unique to the desert, it was night. The universe was spread out before them, a delicate filigree of stars stitched across the ebony sky. Jack pulled Daniel against him and pointed out the constellations as they appeared; he even knew where Daniel's Abydos was, so Daniel was able to see the sun there while he lay in Jack's arms in the earthly Abydos. 

"God, Daniel," Jack said at one point, and laughed to himself. "I can't believe this." Daniel kissed him, smiling. "Listen. I don't want this to end when we leave Egypt. You need to tell me now what you want." 

"I already told you, Jack. For as long as you want." 

"Well, I'm pretty fucking selfish; you know that by now. I want as much as you'll give me." He grinned wolfishly. "I'm a greedy guy." 

"I'd noticed." And I appreciate it, Daniel thought. He couldn't stop smiling. Being wanted by Jack was like nothing else in his life. 

When it was nearly midnight, Daniel whispered, "We should look around." 

"For what?" 

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. But we came all this way . . ." 

Jack sighed, and they stood, dusting themselves off. "Stay near me," Jack said. Daniel had no intention of getting separated from him this night. Or any other, he thought as he followed Jack through the temple. 

Their running shoes made soft scuffing noises that might have been a small nocturnal animal wandering the sandy corridors. The reliefs were ghostly in the starlight, and Daniel paused to study them, so different than in the brilliant afternoon sun. He stared at a deeply-carved relief of Seti; then a tiny movement caught his eye. 

When he looked up, a small white butterfly flickered by him. He tracked it carefully, wondering what kind it was, and why it was out at night. It nearly glowed in the dark, its tiny wings fluttering gracefully. He went to point it out to Jack when he realized that Jack was gone. 

"Jack!" he whispered hoarsely, but there was no answer. He turned in a circle. Where the hell had he gotten to? "Jack!" The butterfly flitted by him again, drawing his attention, and he watched it as it circled above him, then wobbled and flew on to his left. 

He stood irresolute for a moment, heart pounding in his chest. What was happening? Where was Jack? Then he saw a glimpse of white: the butterfly again. The time, he followed. 

The butterfly flittered in lazy circle eights, although moving steadily in the same direction. He followed it out of the temple and across the grounds, toward the Osireion, but it disappeared when he was on level sand. Then he felt a presence behind him. Swallowing, wishing for his P90, he turned. 

A figure stood there, but not Jack, not the taxi driver, not the guard sleeping in his booth. "Who are you?" Daniel whispered, when he could get his voice to work. 

"Upuaut." 

He stared at the figure, mouth dry, heart racing. "Upuaut is in Giza." 

"Upuaut is everywhere. He gathers those who are to die and leads them up the golden staircase, into the otherworld." 

Daniel stared at the figure. It was standing with its back to the moon, so its features were in darkness. It wore a white galabayya that gleamed in the night, nearly blinding Daniel, who squinted myopically at it. 

"Who are you?" he asked again, his voice a little more confident. "Upuaut would be thousands of years old." 

"Older," it said. "Much older." It reached out as if to touch him, and Daniel saw that its hands were beautiful, like a young person's. "I saw your parents, and brought them to the afterworld. Your beautiful wife came with me. I kissed her sweet eyes closed and dried her tears for you. Just yesterday, I saw your Uncle Robbie, and he climbed the staircase with me. Someday your Jack will come with me, and eventually you will come, too." It turned, the galabayya flowing in the night. "Come with me now, Danyel. We will walk together, for a little while." 

Danyel, Daniel thought, a little stunned; the way Sha'uri says my name, and Skaare, and my goodfather Kasuf. He followed, hesitant, afraid. 

They moved silently through the temple. The floors were swept of sand, the painted walls glowing in the moonlight. In corners, enormous pots of greenery blossomed: palms and ferns and cascading flowers, all white and smelling of Sha'uri's perfume. 

They came to an indoor pool, square, filled with clear water; the mosaics of the tile at the edge of the pool spelled out in hieroglyphics Daniel's name again and again, and on the floor of the pool the mosaics formed an ibis, a baboon, and a jackal. In a corner grew a lone wild fig. "Where are we?" he whispered. 

"Where we always are, Danyel." The voice was asexual, a husky timbre, lightly accented. Daniel realized they were speaking the ancient Egyptian that had evolved on Abydos. He turned -- was he on Abydos? No, surely he was still on earth, in earth's Abydos. 

"Who are you?" Daniel asked again, and he thought it smiled. 

"I have always been here. Few see me and live. You are blessed, Danyel. Beloved of gods, judged by the gods and found worthy." It gently touched Daniel's forehead. "I give you my blessings, as I give others. I heal them of their pain, their hunger, their fears. I bring them peace. From me, they learn forgiveness, Danyel. You know these things already. Your tender heart has long been open to the universe." 

"You are Thoth," Daniel guessed, but it shook its head. "Why do you kill people? Why mutilate and maim them?" 

"Without violence, there can be no sacred, Danyel." 

He stared at it, eyes wide with fright. "Who are you?" he whispered one last time. 

"Upuaut," it said, and then it moved, and the moon shone directly into Daniel's eyes. When he opened his eyes again, Jack was bending over him, shaking him gently. 

"Daniel," he said urgently. "Wake up. Danny, please." 

"I'm okay," he gasped. "What happened?" 

"You tripped. We should go. It's too dark to see in here. Let's just go." 

"All right, Jack," he murmured, happy to leave. As Jack helped him to sit up, a white butterfly danced around them, and then flew up into the sky, above the height of Sethos' temple, disappearing into the skein of stars above them. 

"Shit, Danny. You took five years off my life." 

"Sorry, sorry. I think I'm okay." 

"You think. Great." He ran his hands over Daniel's legs, then up his sides and back. "Nothing hurts? No sprains, strains, or breaks?" 

"No, really, I'm fine. Not even dizzy." 

Jack sighed heavily, and patted his shoulder. "Can we blow this pop stand?" 

Jesus, Daniel thought, had he fainted? He shook his head. "I guess." He started to his feet. "What happened?" Daniel asked again. Jack shook his head. 

"I heard a noise and turned, but you were already down. I don't know -- I assumed you tripped over something in the dark." They walked back to the road, where the driver slept in the taxi. "Hey," Jack called softly, and he started. 

"To Dendarah," Daniel told the driver as he climbed into the backseat, feeling as old as Uncle Robbie must. Jack tossed in their packs and slammed the door shut behind them. 

He lay his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. What had happened? Was it all just an hallucination? He'd thought that Jack had been taken, but . . . He sighed, and felt Jack's body hot next to his, and leaned against him. "I'm sorry," he murmured. 

"Shh, shh," Jack said, and they were quiet on the long drive to Dendarah. 

Daniel had found a private residence that rented rooms to visitors; it was tucked away from the small town of Dendarah, in the hills to the west, near the temple. He was sorry to have to wake them, but they had nowhere else to go. The El-Hages were more than cordial, though, welcoming them into their home. Their eldest son showed them to their rooms, which were separate from the home, across a courtyard as green as a miniature oasis, filled with a noisy fountain. 

The rooms were simple: white-washed walls, a shower and toilet, a large bed, a desk, and an elaborate armoire. Jack steered Daniel directly to the bed and sat him down, tugged off his sandy boots, and then lay him back, gently. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked. 

"Oh, Jack," he said, startled and a little embarrassed to find his heart so full of emotion. He missed his life on Abydos; smelling Sha'uri's perfume and hearing her language had brought it all back so vividly. The evening meals, shared with his family; spending the days exploring, translating, teaching English and learning Abydonian. Long, long days, days he thought would never end, but they had, and so violently. 

And here he was in Abydos again, another Abydos, in another time, and with another lover. Would Sha'uri understand? Would she bless his love for Jack? He stared anxiously into Jack's anxious face, then slowly reached up to touch him, to stroke his rough cheek, grey with beard and exhaustion. "I love you," he whispered. Jack's eyes glittered and he knelt on the bed next to Daniel, their eyes locked onto each other. 

When Jack finally lay down next to him, Daniel closed his eyes and sighed. Sha'uri, he thought. Forgive me, my wife, and bless us if you can. And he felt her leave him to the privacy of another lover, another bed, and at last, after so many years, he was able to turn all his attention to loving Jack. His grey hair gleamed in the moonlight falling through the windows and his eyes were dark with passion as he kissed Daniel, touching him urgently, rising to Daniel's equally urgent touch, and they moved together in the night. "I love you," Daniel gasped. 

"No one else, Danny," Jack whispered harshly, his hands fierce on Daniel's body. "No one else, ever again." 

Daniel woke to the chime of a distant bell, some isolated Coptic monastery welcoming believers and summoning God. Jack lay like a stone next to him, his face relaxed and tender in the early light falling through the slatted windows. He watched Jack, making sure his chest was rising and falling, remembering Upuaut's words, that someday he would come for Jack. But not just now, he thought. Not just yet. 

Had he seen Upuaut? Daniel knew that whatever he'd seen wasn't a Goa'uld. But why the mutilations? Upuaut had implied its death was a peaceful one. And had the general's friend really died? 

He sighed, and turned to find Jack watching him. When Daniel caught his eye, Jack smiled and reached out for him, and Daniel willingly came. They'd never completely gotten undressed last night, and Jack slid his hand under Daniel's wrinkled shirt to stroke his chest and stomach, then folded his hand and fit it under Daniel's briefs, spreading his fingers through the pubic hair and then twisting his hand to wrap around his aching dick. Daniel put his hand on top of Jack's and pressed, groaning in near pain at the sensation. How had he lived without this? How could he, ever again? And then all thought fell away from him and he was aware only of Jack's hands and mouth, and the warmth and pleasure of his body. 

They lay in bed until they were too hot and sticky to bear it, and then showered together under a thin trickle of lukewarm water. Jack kept casting worried glances at him, and he knew they'd have to talk. But not just yet; he couldn't bear to disturb the morning with his fears from last night. 

At last they emerged from their quarters and wandered across the courtyard, pausing to admire the fountain. "Water is holy," Daniel said, the first time he'd spoken that morning. Jack put his hand on the small of Daniel's back, and smiled lovingly at him, then gently guided him to Mrs. El-Hage's dining room, where they were served yogurt and cucumbers, tomatoes, radishes, and a chewy flatbread, with hot thick coffee to wash it all down. The salt was served in tiny bowls, fat dried crystals fresh from the sea, Daniel thought, as he sprinkled some over his tomatoes. 

They decided to walk to the Temple of Dendarah, not far from the El-Hage's. As they approached it, Daniel said, "I hate to tell you this, but it's dedicated to Hathor." 

"Good god," Jack said mildly, and tugged on his baseball cap. Daniel wore his straw hat, and each carried a thermos of water on a strap around their shoulders. "That cow?" 

Daniel laughed. "She was the cow goddess; did I tell you that?" 

"Did a little research. Goddess of women, too, and supposed to have healing powers. Typical of the Goa'uld, to pervert something like that." 

"Typical," Daniel agreed, happy that Jack wasn't as unnerved by Hathor's temple as he'd feared. 

They spent a few hours wandering through the temple, elaborate and relatively undamaged throughout the millennia. Daniel pointed out graffiti with the names of Napoleon's soldiers on the roof, and Jack spent a long time gazing at the representation of Cleopatra with her son by Caesar. "Striking woman," he told Daniel when he'd come to collect him, and Daniel agreed. 

They made their way back to their quarters at the El-Hage's; they were to spend another night there, and then take the train back to Cairo. Daniel was anxious to go. He hadn't told Jack what Upuaut had said, that Robertson Clayton-Burns had died. He wasn't sure why, and Jack needed to know, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words here, in the desert where Upuaut still roamed. 

They made love again that afternoon, despite the stifling heat of their bedroom. Daniel felt he'd never get enough of Jack's body, his kisses and caresses, and they took their time, slick with sweat and semen, half-dazed with heat and passion, until they slipped into sleep, waking only when the lone church bell began to toll again. 

"Mmmph," Jack said, and Daniel agreed. They showered again, and showed up for dinner early and a little embarrassed; they hadn't eaten any lunch and both men were ravenous. Mrs. El-Hage only smiled and brought out course after course of fuul and bread and even roast lamb on skewers, with more yogurt and fresh vegetables from their own garden tended by her sons. 

They took the train back to Cairo, an exotic form of travel for Jack but familiar to Daniel. He settled back into the sprung seat, putting his feet up on the opposite one, and watched as the desert rolled past them. It was noisy and hot, and the closer they got to Cairo, the more crowded the train. They spent all day and half the night aboard, stopping at every tiny station between Dendarah and Cairo. At each stop, vendors would leap aboard or, if stopped by the guards, would sell their wares through the open windows. Daniel bought them fruit and bottled juices, and later paper cones of roasted butterbeans. 

The train was so crowded now that they had to share a seat with each other and their luggage. Crammed together like that, in the dark, Daniel found the courage to describe to Jack what had happened in the temple at Abydos. 

He spoke directly into Jack's ear, whispering what he'd seen and heard. Jack put his arm around Daniel's waist and pulled him close, then turned his head so he could glance into Daniel's eyes. The flickering overhead lights gave Jack the dark and mysterious look of a stranger, as if Daniel were confiding in a stranger, but his smell and warmth were familiar and dear. 

"So was it Upuaut?" he finally asked. 

Daniel shook his head. "I don't know. How long was I out?" 

"Just a few seconds. Hardly out, really." They stared at each other. "He -- it -- said that Clayton-Burns was dead?" 

"Yeah, it did." He bit his lip. "If he is dead -- what would that mean?" 

"Daniel, we've seen so much weird shit in these last few years. I don't know. Once you've seen one impossible thing, all things become possible, you know?" 

That was perhaps the most profound statement Jack had ever made to him, Daniel thought, but he nodded. "I know. When Sha'uri --" But he couldn't say those words. Jack hadn't really believed him then, although he had trusted Daniel enough to go to Kheb for the child, so perhaps he had believed him. And besides, Sha'uri was gone. He was with Jack now. He smiled at Jack, wishing he could kiss him right there on the train. 

Well, tomorrow they'd know about Mr. Clayton-Burns. Tonight they could only guess. 

It was after midnight when they finally staggered off the train, fighting their way through the crowd, holding on to their luggage with all their might. Taxis were lined up and Jack quickly commandeered one, not even waiting for Daniel to finish the negotiations before hoisting their bags into the back seat and half-falling in himself. 

The Mena House was an oasis of cool quiet, and Daniel was exhausted and delighted when he finally opened the door to their suite. The air was arctic. "Minnesota," he said to Jack, whose mouth twitched even as he tried to look innocent. They went straight to the bathroom and shared a shower, luxuriating under the heavy spray and scented soap. 

They were too tired to make love, but for the first time shared the bed in Daniel's room at the Mena House, falling asleep the moment they pulled the sheet over their bodies. Daniel's last thought was how good it felt to sleep with someone again, after all those years alone, how wonderful Jack's body felt sprawled next to his. 

Each morning waking up with Jack at his side was a pleasure to Daniel. He began to caress Jack's body, delighting in being able to touch someone he loved so much. He remembered his dream or vision in Abydos, and knew that, no matter what had caused it, the meaning was true: he needed to treasure these fleeting moments, because Upuaut would indeed come for Jack, for everyone that Daniel knew and loved, and finally for Daniel himself. 

Jack was awake, smiling at him but lying passively, letting Daniel stroke and pet him, as if he understood Daniel's need to do so. But passivity was against Jack's nature, and soon he began to stroke and pet Daniel, and then to use his strength to work with Daniel, teasing him, pushing him. Daniel couldn't help but respond to this exhibition of vitality. This is what Daniel loved most about Jack: his vigor, his refusal to submit to exhaustion, to fear. Jack's lusty potency, in bed and out, reminded Daniel that, even after all they'd been through, they were alive. Alive and together. They seemed to have no words for each other at these times; even Daniel's skills failed him, and so they loved in panting silence, accompanied only by the shushing sound of the air conditioning and then, at the end, Jack's gasp of completion. 

A little before noon, they sat at the small table that held the phone. Jack took Daniel's hand. "What if he's dead?" Daniel asked. 

Jack shook his head. "Then we'll know more than we do now, Daniel. You're always telling me not to theorize without data." Daniel smiled at that; he was indeed. He just never knew that Jack had heard him. 

So he called the British Embassy again, and again listened to the confusion that asking for Robertson Clayton-Burns caused. He rolled his eyes at Jack, who got him a bottle of water and then took his free hand again. 

At last the floppy-haired Milton came on the line. "I'm so sorry, Doctor Jackson," he said. "Mister Clayton-Burns' grandfather, um, passed away two nights ago. I'm a little surprised you hadn't heard." 

"We've been out of town," Daniel told him, nodding meaningfully at Jack. "May I asked how he died?" 

Milton hesitated, and then said, "Apparently he was murdered." 

"Jesus." 

"Quite. It was -- " Milton paused so long that Daniel wondered if he'd finished. At last he said, "It was quite gruesome. Or so I'm told." 

"I'm so sorry. My god. I'd like to see his grandson again; could you let him know? I realize he'll be busy, and this is a terrible time, but I liked his grandfather very much." 

"I will indeed let him know. I will forward your condolences to him." 

"Yes, of course. Please do. Um, thank you." 

"Goodbye." 

"Bye." He set the phone down and looked at Jack, who slowly nodded. "Murdered." 

"I figured. Shit." 

"Shit," Daniel agreed. "Now what?" 

"Now we wait for the fifth to call us back. And get some lunch in the meantime." 

"Yeah. Yeah." 

At the door, Jack stopped and turned, and then embraced Daniel fiercely. "Danny," he whispered. Daniel felt overwhelmed with tenderness and hugged him back. Jack felt so good in his arms, so real and present. The only constant in his life for so long. He sighed. 

Finally, Jack released him, and they went to lunch in the elegant Moghul Room, a galaxy away from the ruins of Abydos and the haras of Giza. 

They walked the grounds of the Mena House afterwards, staying on the shady paths so lovingly tended for more than a century, bordered by rolled lawns and exuberant flowerbeds. Just beyond them, the Great Pyramids rose, unspeaking and unspeakably mysterious, and beyond them, the millions of Cairenes, wealthy or impoverished, religious or not, good or bad, all prey to Upuaut. As they themselves were, Daniel thought, and bumped shoulders with Jack. 

They found a private enclave, a little green cave of topiary with a curved marble bench and a small fountain splashing. They sat, and Daniel rested his head on Jack's shoulder. He felt Jack kiss his hair, and nuzzle his ear, sighing. 

How odd to sit here, in Egypt, with Jack holding him so tenderly. He felt the tenuousness of all life especially strongly here, where he'd been born and his parents had worked so happily. The past really was another country, and he never could return. 

His parents gone, taken by Upuaut. Sha'uri, gone, taken by Upuaut. Sarah, gone, and she might as well have been taken by the ancient one. And now old Mr. Clayton-Burns gone, too. All gone from his life. Only Jack remained, only Jack had waited for him. He turned his face to study Jack, who was watching him carefully, concern in his dark eyes. "It's all right," he promised, and Jack smiled briefly, but he, too, Daniel knew, was moved by the strangeness of their lives. 

The next day, Milton called them, to invite them to a memorial service for the late Clayton-Burns. Jack made a face but nodded, and Daniel told him they'd be there. He made arrangements for flowers to be sent in General Hammond's name, and then called the general without saying anything to Jack. 

"Damn," General Hammond said when Daniel finally reached him. "He wasn't that much older than me. Oh, Daniel." He sighed. 

"I'm sorry to have to give you such bad news." 

"Well, at least you're there. Thank you for sending the flowers, son. I appreciate that. Robbie was a good man, a good man." He sighed again. "At my age, I can't afford to lose many friends. I always thought I'd see Robbie again, talk about old times. Some of the things we got up to . . ." His voice trailed off. 

"When we get home, will you tell me some of them?" 

The general laughed. "You'd be bored, after all you've seen and done." 

"I wouldn't," he insisted. "I'll buy you a drink, and you tell me." 

"All right." General Hammond sounded amused. "I'd like that. The colonel can't know, though; wouldn't be good for him to know what his superior officer did when he was a young man." 

"No, we wouldn't want to encourage Jack," Daniel said, eyeing Jack, who was eavesdropping shamelessly as usual. He crossed his eyes at Daniel, who laughed. 

"Thank you for going to the memorial service. Tell his family how sorry I am, and how much I'll miss him." 

"I will, sir. I'm glad we can at least do that much for you." 

"When will you come home, Daniel?" 

Now Daniel sighed. "Soon, I hope. I have a few more questions to ask, but I think we're almost finished here." 

"Good news or bad?" 

Daniel hesitated. "Well, good news, in one way." He meant he no longer thought it was a Goa'uld. But violent death -- no matter what the cause, it was never good news. 

"I understand." And Daniel thought the general did, and not just because his old friend had died, perhaps by the same means as the deaths they'd come so far to investigate. "Come home soon," he said. 

"I will, Uncle George." 

"Have you been listening to Jack?" 

"Um, most of the time." 

"Good man. Let him take care of you, Daniel. I'll see you both soon, I hope." 

"Bye, Uncle George." 

"Bye, son." 

He hung up and then looked at Jack. "He wants to know if I've been listening to you." 

Jack held out his arms. "Come to bed, Daniel." When he smiled and followed Jack into the bedroom, Jack said, "Hey, you listened to me." Daniel smacked his ass, and they fell across the bed, half wrestling, half snuggling in the chill of the ridiculous air conditioning. 

Milton was waiting outside the Church of Saint George, where the service was to take place. He guided them into the back of the church, where they saw the younger Clayton-Burns kneeling in prayer in a private chapel. Milton left them there, and they stood, awkward and embarrassed, until he crossed himself and raised his tear-stained face. 

Jack looked away, arms crossed, face neutral, but Daniel felt his heart go out to the other man. He remembered how tenderly he'd kissed his grandfather, lifting him to his feet and helping him shuffle away. Tears came to his own eyes when Clayton-Burns saw them and stood. 

"Thank you for coming," he said politely, and Daniel saw Jack nod, although he still looked away. 

"Thank you for remembering us. My uncle sends his condolences. He is so sorry." To Daniel's embarrassment, his voice broke, and he swallowed hastily. "He's so sorry for your loss," he finished. 

Clayton-Burns put a hand on Daniel's shoulder. "Thank you. Grandfather was very fond of Uncle George. The Ugly American, he used to call him -- someone who meant well and tried so hard." 

Daniel nodded, still embarrassed by the power of his emotions at this man's loss. "Is there something we can do for you, Robbie?" 

"Walk with me," he said, and they went out of the church into the cemetery. "Grandfather will be buried here, next to his wife. I never knew her. She died before I was born, before my father married. But he always loved her, and wanted to rest next to her." Daniel nodded. He had already asked Jack to see that, should anything happen to him, he would be buried next to Sha'uri. 

And Jack will be buried next to me, he suddenly realized, and turned to look at Jack, trailing behind them. Irrationally, his heart felt lighter, as if given a gift. 

"Milton told you that my grandfather was murdered," Robbie said abruptly, and Daniel nodded. "I believe it was by the same . . ." 

When he didn't finished, Daniel said, "The same person who's been killing for so many years?" 

"Person?" Robbie raised his head. "Do you have evidence that it's human?" 

Daniel was stunned. He looked at Jack again, who stepped next to him. 

"What is it?" he asked, his voice calm. 

Robbie shook his head. "Grandfather said it was Upuaut, and that it would be coming for him soon." 

"Upuaut is a myth," Daniel said, even though he no longer believed that. 

"Is it?" Robbie stared off into the distance; perhaps at his grandmother's grave. "Perhaps. But my grandfather was alone when he was killed. The servants saw nothing, heard nothing." 

"Maybe they killed him," Jack suggested. "Your grandpa was wealthy, wasn't he?" 

"They'd been with him forever. Why now? Why not just steal what they wanted? I doubt my grandfather would even have noticed. That makes no sense. Besides, I've known them all since I was a little boy. They're like family. I played with their children; my grandfather paid for their education." 

Jack shrugged. "What do you want from us?" 

For a long moment, Robbie didn't answer. Then he said, "Grandfather told me that Upuaut was the one doing the killing. Ritual killing." He looked past Daniel, at Jack. "The police here in Cairo are investigating his murder. They'll probably say the same thing you do: that one of the servants killed him. And they'll put him in prison, no doubt." 

"Mister Clayton-Burns, I don't think we can help with that," Jack started, but Robbie shook his head. 

"No, of course not." He looked at Daniel now. "I know that your parents were told about these killings. That your mother helped investigate them, before you were born. Is there anything that you've discovered among her work that would lead you to believe Grandfather was correct?" 

Daniel stared back at him, swallowing. He hadn't been looking for ancient spirits when he'd read his mother's notes. He'd been too delighted at seeing her handwriting again, and too focused on the possibility that it was a Goa'uld on earth. "I don't know," he admitted. "I'm sorry, but I don't know." 

Robbie nodded, and turned away. "A thought," he said, and shrugged. 

"Mister Clayton-Burns?" A priest called him as he stepped across the lawn. "Perhaps you should come inside now." 

Robbie turned back to Daniel and, surprising him, embraced him. "Look for me," he whispered, and then followed the priest indoors. 

Daniel watched them go, and felt Jack step close to him. "We should find seats," he told Jack, and they followed the others, making their way from the private chapel to the front of the church. 

The service was long, in English, Arabic, and Latin. The church was overflowing with people; Daniel was beginning to get an idea how important Mr. Clayton-Burns had been, that so many people would turn up like this. Or perhaps it was to show support to his grandson. But it was packed, and he and Jack sat squashed together in the pew, breathing in the scent of sweat and perfume and cologne and incense. Daniel was happy to escape to the streets an hour later. 

They went back to the Mena House; Daniel was anxious to re-read his mother's notes, with more of a researcher's eye, he told himself, than a son's. Yet he found that difficult. 

As soon as he pulled out a card, he saw her precise handwriting. It reminded him of his own -- the shape of the capital letters, in particular. His writing was sloppier, though, and he used more idiosyncratic abbreviations. Well, she was writing for Bobbie and Dallie; perhaps that made a difference. 

He held the card to his nose, in the hopes of catching a scent of her perfume, the jasmine he found so evocative now, but smelled only dust and mildew. Nothing more. He pulled the card back and studied it. His mother had held it, had pressed her pen against it, copying down dates and names and places where people had been ritually slaughtered. 

By Upuaut? He didn't know. He slid the card back into place and began again, at the beginning. This time, looking beyond his mother's handwriting and at the meaning of her words. 

It was late by the time he finished. Jack had brought him dinner, a sandwich from one of restaurants in the Mena House, but he'd refused the beer and had a soft drink instead, and later, many cups of tea. 

He set down the last card and stretched, raising his arms over his head and hearing his back and shoulders pop. "Danny?" He twisted in his chair to find Jack in the settee, newspaper in his lap. "Find anything?" 

"Mother did mention jackals -- three times, someone saw a jackal near the murder scene. And once . . ." He looked through his notes. "Once she wrote 'jackal-headed god.' Which is Upuaut. 

"But she never mentions him by name, or suggests that it's anything but a human doing the killing." Daniel remained silent so long that Jack sat up straighter. "Daniel. What is it?" 

He sighed. "I did find something, Jack. I'm just not sure . . ." His voice trailed off. Jack came to his side; he put one hand on the table and one on Daniel's shoulder and leaned over him. "Here." He pushed a small battered leather notebook toward him. "I found this in Mother's notes." 

For a moment, Jack remained where he was. Then, almost reluctantly, he picked up the notebook. "It looks old," he said. 

"Yeah. Open it." 

Jack carefully opened the notebook. The leather was stained with water and what looked like coffee, as were the pages inside. They were covered with tiny handwriting, almost printed. It was obviously a diary; there were dates interspersed through the entries. "Sept 12," the first one said. "Claire very ill. Bobbie trying new tisane." 

"My god," he said. "This is your dad's." Daniel nodded, not looking at Jack. He could hear the shock in Jack's voice. Daniel himself felt numb, seized with a sudden desire to escape. Except he had nowhere to go. Suddenly Jack grabbed his upper arm. "Come here," he ordered, and Daniel blindly followed him back to the settee, where they sat together. Jack picked up the phone and ordered coffee sent to the room, and then pulled Daniel into his arms. "We'll read it together," he said, and Daniel sighed. 

Jack would take care of this. He'd take care of Daniel, the way he always did. 

At last, he permitted himself to look at the journal in Jack's hands. Daniel kept a journal, too, just as his father had done. He could see, superimposed over Jack, his father, sitting at a desk, writing in his careful script summaries of the day's events. Just as Daniel did now, his father had kept two journals: one professional and one personal. This was the personal one, he knew, written before he was born. 

The coffee arrived. Jack carried the journal with him as he let the waiter in. Only when the coffee was poured and they were alone did Jack return to his side. He kissed Daniel's cheek noisily. "Okay," he said, and squeezed Daniel. "Let's do this. First, how come you didn't find it before?" 

Daniel shrugged, and reached out to lightly stroke the rough leather. "It was hidden underneath the notes. I pulled them all out this time." 

Together they turned their attention to the journal. Daniel had already read it, but somehow it was easier while being held by Jack. The absence of his parents was an old and familiar pain; he should be used to this. But he never was, never would be. 

"'September twelfth,'" Jack read aloud. "'Claire very ill. Bobbie trying a new tisane.' What's a tisane?" 

Daniel sniffed and cleared his throat. "A kind of tea, used for medicinal purposes." 

"Hunh. Sarah could've used that. She puked for six months." Somehow, Jack's down-to-earth response made Daniel feel better. He took a sip of his coffee, then nudged Jack, who continued. "'September seventeenth. Baby's kicking up a storm, which Bobbie says is good. Claire slightly better. Frustrated at not being in the field.'" He turned the page. "'October first. Claire in bad mood. Feels fat. No more vomiting, thank god.'" 

Jack laughed. "I like your dad. 'No more vomiting.' Right to the point. I remember how glad I was when Sarah finally stopped throwin' up. Jesus, sometimes _I'd_ throw up along with her." 

Daniel laughed. "I never knew Mother had such a difficult time with me." 

"Oh, I could've guessed, Danny." Jack kissed him again, smiling affectionately. Daniel reached across and turned the page. "Hey, look. Your dad drew your mom." They peered down at the page, where a sketch of a tiny Claire smiled up at them, one hand on her inflated belly. She looked tired but happy. "Your dad was a good artist." 

"Yeah. He used to draw pictures for me to color when I was sick. Camels and donkeys and elephants. And pyramids, but three-dimensional and transparent, so I could see the interior chambers." 

"Cool. Let's see. 'October tenth. Claire fully recovered. Bobbie will take no credit, but we're sure it's her tisanes. Wonderful to have the old Claire back. She is so beautiful.'" Jack stopped suddenly, and Daniel saw he was near tears. He hugged Jack comfortingly, who nodded. "I'm okay. Just -- so real, you know? Like I'm meeting your parents." He rested the journal on his knee. "Would they like me, Danny? Do you think?" 

"Jack. Bobbie and Dallie love you. I know my folks would, too." He grinned. "What's not to love?" 

Jack raised his eyebrows, then lifted the book to read again. "'Claire back at work on Bobbie and Dallie's mystery. Very concerned. So much death. An archaeologist meets death on a daily basis, but it's abstract, distant. This is so near. A child was taken just last week.' Wow. No wonder he took you and your mom away." 

Daniel nodded in agreement. He would've done the same thing. "Keep reading," was all he said, though. 

"'October twenty-second. As soon as Claire can travel, am taking her and Baby to Al-Uqsar. Won't tell her, but had very bad dream last night. Dreamt I met Upuaut, the gatekeeper to the underworld. Dressed all in white, he came to our bed and laid his hand on Claire's belly.'" 

Jack put down the book and stared at Daniel. "No fucking way." Daniel swallowed and nodded. "Shit, Daniel. Just shit." He bit his lip. "This what freaked you out?" 

"Wouldn't it freak you out?" 

"Well, yeah." They sighed in unison, and they laughed a little. "Wow. So your dad saw the same, uh, whatever it was that you did. That. That's just creepy." He flipped through the journal, but there was nothing more. "What do you think it means?" 

"I'm my father's son?" Jack gave him a level look. "It didn't work, you know." 

"Daniel." 

"No, Jack. They couldn't run away from Upuaut. It found them, caught them." His eyes filled with tears and he looked away from Jack. 

Jack was silent for a long time, just holding Daniel tenderly. Finally, he said softly, "What does it mean, that your dad saw Upuaut, too?" 

"I have no idea," he replied honestly. "Coincidence? What do you think it means?" 

"I think it means we should do like your dad did, and get the hell out of Dodge." 

"We can't. We need to find out what's going on." 

"Daniel. We came to find if it was a Goa'uld. We're pretty sure it isn't, right?" He nodded; he was sure of that. "Then let's go home. I'm tired, you're tired. You saw some old friends, we had a good time. But I want to go home." He hesitated and then said, "I want you in my bed at home, Daniel." He was blushing when he finished. 

Daniel kissed him. "Me, too," he said, inarticulate in his pleasure. "But --" 

"I knew it." Jack huffed. "I knew there was a 'but' in there." 

"Oh, there's a butt in there, all right," Daniel tried to tease him, slipping his hand under Jack and squeezing his butt. Jack smiled sadly. 

"But what?" 

"But I want to know. We need to go back to Giza." 

"We're in Giza." 

"You know what I mean. Spend another night on the grounds where Akil was taken." 

"Jesus, Daniel. Two people have been killed since we lived here. Shredded, basically. I know it's disgusting, but it's true. And I don't want it to happen to you." 

"Jack --" 

"Ah, ah. Daniel. Uncle George told you to listen to me, right? And you said you would, right? And I'm saying not to do this, right? So you're not going to do this." He looked sternly into Daniel's face. 

"I'm sorry, Jack. But I am going to do this. I'm going out there tonight. Just one more time," he said loudly, over Jack's protests. Jack looked irritably at him. 

"I suppose getting Hammond on the phone and having him order you not to do that wouldn't do any good, would it." 

"No." 

"Shit. Goddammit, Daniel." 

"You'll be with me. What can happen?" Daniel kissed Jack again, gently at first, but more passionately, giving him the best and sexiest kiss he knew how to, and Jack began to respond. They shifted until they could hold each other, and then Jack pulled Daniel forward, so he was lying on top of Jack. 

"What can happen," Jack whispered between kisses. "Famous last words, Jackson." 

"Don't call me Jackson when we're fucking," Daniel said, and Jack's eyes widened and he gasped, then put his hands on Daniel's ass and squeezed. 

"Love it when you talk dirty," he whispered, and Daniel said, "Fuck me, Jack, just nail me to the fucking mattress," and Jack bodily lifted Daniel, as big as he was, and half carried him to bed. 

His tactic, Daniel thought to himself, worked splendidly. He kept Jack busy and utterly preoccupied, had a wonderful time himself, and then slept for nearly an hour. Then he roused Jack, grumbling, and they dressed and caught a taxi to the Pyramids. 

They were closed, of course, but the taxi driver was accustomed to odd requests from foreign visitors, so he agreed to wait for them at the Ticket Office, while they walked the perimeter until they were far enough from anyone to slip behind the causeway. They retraced their earlier route, to the Pyramids of the Queens. 

"This is dopey," Jack told him when they finally slipped into their hiding place. 

"Probably." 

"No, really dopey." 

"Okay, it's dopey. I'm dopey. Point taken. Now shut up." 

"Shut up? Jesus, what a way to talk to your commanding officer. Wait till I tell Uncle George." 

"You asshole." Daniel grinned at him affectionately, and Jack slung an arm around his shoulders and kissed him. 

"But I'm your asshole," he whispered, and sloppily licked Daniel's ear. 

He did quiet down, though, and they sat together, almost cuddling, except it was too hot and they were too old and too male to cuddle, while the night wore itself away. 

Daniel admitted to himself he didn't know why they were there. He had no reason to believe whatever had taken Akil and Mr. Clayton-Burns would return that night, to that place. He just felt compelled to try one last time before they left. A useless gesture, no doubt. Still, gestures have meaning, even futile gestures. As a linguist, he knew that better than most. 

Jack was snoring softly when Daniel saw something. A waver, like heat rising from the desert floor. "Jack," he whispered, and shook him awake. Jack put his hand over Daniel's mouth, so he pointed. 

Silently, Jack stood, and Daniel suddenly realized the danger they might be in. They had no weapons, they had no right to be there. It could be a guard, suspecting sabotage or terrorism. Jesus, what had he done? 

He stood behind Jack, his hand on Jack's shoulder, peering beyond him. Nothing. Not even the crunch of a footstep on sand. 

Jack pointed at himself and then to the right; then he pointed at Daniel and to the left. Around and then meet. Daniel shook his head; he didn't want to be separated from Jack. This was a bad idea, he tried to convey with his eyes, but Jack stepped away from him. 

Well, just because Jack said go right didn't mean he had to go right. He followed Jack, as silently as he could, watching the flat land around them for any movement, listening for any sound. 

He saw the waver again, as if the air itself had flickered briefly, and then he saw Jack waver, his body rippling. Daniel leaped forward but there was no one there. 

He turned in a circle, eyes wide. Please, no. Not Jack. He wouldn't live if he'd, if Jack . . . 

A white butterfly circled lazily around him, and he reversed his turn to follow it. Upuaut stood before him, its white galabayya billowing in an unfelt wind. 

"My Danyel," it said in the same sexless voice. "Why do you seek me? I will come for you soon enough." 

"Who are you?" he asked, terrified but determined. 

"I am Upuaut, the jackal god. The opener of doors. A door opens --" and the air rippled -- "and then a door closes." 

"Why are you here?" 

"Go home, Danyel," it whispered, and reached out its beautiful hand to stroke his face. "Go home." 

"Where's Jack?" 

"Go home, my Danyel. There is nothing for you here." 

"Where's Jack? Jack!" He threw caution to the winds and shouted, not caring who heard. "Jack, goddammit!" 

Upuaut seemed to draw back, but Daniel followed, pushing through a wind that stirred nothing but its galabayya. "Please, please, where's Jack? Take me, not Jack, for god's sake, wait, please --" 

Upuaut grew more distant, smaller, its proportions all wrong, as if it were going through a door to somewhere else, somewhere Daniel couldn't follow. "Wait! Where's Jack?" Then it was gone. 

Daniel turned again, slowly surveying the Giza plain. Fuck, where could Jack have gotten to? Did Upuaut take him? Would it have said? But there was nothing, only silence and shadow and the ancient presence of the pyramids, casting their shadows from the moon. 

Jack was in danger. Jack would be killed. And because Daniel couldn't let this ancient mystery rest. His heart thudded in his chest and ears, he could barely breathe, fear was choking his throat. He staggered as if drunk, here and then there, looking for anything -- a footstep, and smudge in the sand, anything. 

He fell to his knees. "Mother, help me," he whispered, and hid his face. The scent of jasmine washed over him. "Upuaut, open the door, please, I beg you." The wind came again, and the sound of the galabayya flapping in the wind. "Jack." 

He took his hands from his face and opened his eyes. He was surrounded by rippling white -- fluttering galabayyas, or bed sheets, or felucca sails in a high wind, soundlessly trembling like the butterfly. Was his mother here? Was Jack? He stood gracelessly, and then began walking. He'd walk through Upuaut's door for Jack; he'd leave this world behind to be with him again, if that's what it took. 

The white sheets shimmered in the moonlight, touching him softly, like silk or well-washed cotton. He swam through them blindly, listening for anything. They smelled of river water and sunshine and jasmine, the scent his mother had worn. He reached out to push his way through, fighting to find Jack, and then he was standing on the empty Giza plain, where they'd found the stargate over half a century earlier. He turned wildly, panting. 

Then he saw Jack -- what was left of Jack, sprawled, as Akil had been, across the desert floor, flayed, shredded, open to the universe. His eyes were open but sightless, his torso ripped apart. "Jack!" he cried, but he was voiceless with shock and despair. "No, please, no," he moaned, and began to run toward Jack. "Upuaut! Mother!" 

He fell into the swirling white again, Upuaut's galabayya whirling around him, catching him, and he tumbled to the desert floor. He pushed on, clawing at the sand, thrusting the fabric away from him. Through the white eddies, he caught glimpses of Jack's body, bleeding into the moon-white sand, and he sobbed with a grief so powerful he thought his breath would be stolen from his body. 

"Not yet," he pleaded, "Not Jack, not yet." He collapsed, exhausted from his efforts. "Mother," he whispered, staring into the nothingness around him. "Help me." 

He closed his eyes. 

A heartbeat later, a lifetime later, he heard shouting. Jack's voice. He pushed up, on his hands and knees, and peered forward, to where Jack had been. To his amazement, he saw three men fighting; one of them was Jack. He stood up and ran toward them, shouting in anger and relief, "Fuck off! Get the hell out of here!" 

Two of the men paused, and Jack punched one in the nose, a good roundhouse swing that sent the man staggering back with blood spurting from his face. "Asshole!" Jack bellowed, shaking his hand. The other grabbed his friend and ran; by the time Daniel got there, Jack was alone, sweating and spattered with blood. 

"What the hell happened?" Daniel demanded, grabbing him in a fierce hug, and then shaking him. 

"They jumped me. Jesus, did they get my wallet? Fuck! Goddammit, I was fucking mugged at the pyramids. Goddammit." 

Daniel laughed, nearly hysterical; he couldn't help it. He'd been worried that Upuaut had torn Jack to shreds, had taken him to the afterworld, and all the time he'd been getting mugged. 

"Well, fuck, I'm glad you think it's funny. Do you know what I had in that wallet? All my ID, a helluva lot of money, pictures of, of people," and Daniel stopped laughing. He knew Jack meant pictures of his son, Charlie. 

"I'm sorry, Jack. I'm just so relieved you're all right. Maybe they dropped it. Come on, let's look. We'll chase those fuckers down and make them give back the wallet." He tugged at Jack, who seemed energized by the idea, and they trotted after the muggers, Daniel keeping his eye on the ground for the wallet. 

"There they are!" Jack whispered hoarsely, and they took off, racing across the desert, Daniel invigorated by relief and excitement and the opportunity to right an injustice to his friend. The other two saw them and ran faster. 

"Drop the wallet!" Jack yelled, and Daniel repeated it in Arabic. "We'll leave you alone if you just drop the wallet!" They were gaining on them; all those training exercises and the long hikes off-world meant that both Jack and Daniel were in better condition than two undernourished thieves from Giza. When they realized they were in danger of being caught, one of them threw the wallet, nearly hitting Jack in the head. "Son of a bitch!" he yelled, and would've continued the chase if Daniel hadn't grabbed him. 

"Hey, hey, we got it. Come on." They staggered to a stop, gasping for breath; as good a shape as they were, it had still been quite a race. "Fuck, the wallet," Daniel said, and went back for it, Jack at his heels. 

He handed it to Jack. "I'm sorry," he said earnestly. "If I hadn't had this brilliant idea to come out here, this never would've happened." 

"You don't know that," Jack said, flipping through the contents of the wallet. "Besides, we got it back. We showed them, huh, Danny?" And he beamed at him, then gathered him in a hug and kissed him soundly, right there in front of the Pyramids and all. Daniel hung onto him powerfully, grateful his vision had proven false. 

"Let's go home," Daniel whispered, and they turned, still clinging to each other, to make their way back to the waiting taxi. "I need a drink." 

"You need a shower." 

"And you don't?" 

"We can share. Conserve water." 

"Give me a break. You've got that room temperature in the sixties, and you're trying to convince me you want to conserve water?" 

"That's different," Jack said, and they grinned at each other. 

They showered, together, conserving water, before Daniel had his drink. Scotch, neat, as he lay in bed with Jack, kissing him tenderly. 

"So what did you see?" Jack finally asked him. 

"See what? When?" He'd been focused on the back of Jack's neck. 

"At the pyramids. You saw somethin', didn't you." 

"How do you know?" He sat up straighter, so he could see Jack's face. 

"Didn't you?" 

"Yeah. Maybe." 

"What?" 

"Upuaut." He took a sip of Scotch. "It told me to go home. That there was nothing for me here." He sighed. "I think -- maybe I saw my mother. Or something." Jack hugged him, and kissed him sweetly. "I was so afraid I'd lost you," Daniel whispered. He couldn't tell Jack what he'd seen, and the vision was fading from him, anyway. Only a dream, he told himself. Just a bad, bad dream. Jack took the glass from his hand and set it on the night table, and they lay back in bed, kissing. "I couldn't bear to lose you, Jack." 

"You won't. I'm right here, Danny. Right here." He kissed Daniel's eyes, licking away the moisture in the lashes. "It's okay. I promise. It's okay." 

Daniel kissed him hard; he needed to feel Jack's body pressed against his, to know he was real, and not the remnants of desire or hope, not another false vision. As if he realized this, Jack rolled on top of him, letting Daniel take his weight. Daniel could feel his dick hard against his thigh, and nudged him gently. Jack groaned and began to hump him. "Fuck, that feels good," he whispered. 

Jack's dick was heavy and damp with sweat, so it slid easily against Daniel's thigh and belly. His own dick thickened and rose, and he reached between them to loosely wrap his hand around both, letting them slip and slide against each other, so hot, so weird to touch another man, so erotic that it was Jack he was touching. 

Jack's kisses were smoky with the Scotch; Daniel felt he would never get enough of them, or of him. He pulled harder, thrusting into his hand, pushing against Jack, and groaned. Oh god, god, to be here -- but he couldn't think anymore, he was coming, all over his fingers and Jack. 

He opened his eyes; Jack still lay heavily on him, sliding through Daniel's semen, his eyes tightly shut as he built to his own climax. Daniel held Jack as he shuddered in his arms, his hands and belly sticky with Jack and his own come. He kissed Jack again, who sighed and lay his head on Daniel's chest, already falling asleep, such a guy, but tonight Daniel didn't sleep. 

They'd go home, he knew, as soon as it could be arranged, and report back to the general that no Goa'uld walked on earth. Another god, from before even the Goa'uld, a god of great violence and great mercy, one over which the SGC had no domain, had taken the people of Egypt for so long. 

But not only Egypt, Daniel realized; all countries, all worlds were visited by Upuaut. He knew suddenly and with utter conviction that, if he'd done his research, he would have learned that everywhere people disappeared, died terrible deaths, were mourned and missed and ultimately forgotten. Not just in Egypt, but everywhere. 

He stared into the night and saw his mother again, young and earnest, hard at work. Bobbie had given him a picture of his mother he would carry to his grave, of her researching the deaths of innocents while carrying her own innocent in her body. 

"Mama," he whispered to her, across time and space and up the golden staircase that Upuaut had led her, and the scent of the gardens of the Mena House rose around him, delicate and sweet, the scent of mother, of family, of home. The scent of Cairo. The scent of forever. 

Jack stirred restlessly, and Daniel tightened his arms around him, and kissed the top of his grey hair. Not yet, Upuaut, Daniel prayed. Not just yet. 

As if he'd heard, Jack raised his head and stared into Daniel's eyes before beginning to kiss him, luxuriously, voluptuously, pulling Daniel's attention away from the past, away from death, and to Jack's hard body pressing against him, forcing him into the moment. His wet, open-mouthed kisses were eating Daniel alive and Daniel groaned with pleasure at the sensation. His body moved against Jack's, and he spread his legs so Jack could fit more comfortably between them, and began to thrust up against him, delighting in the heavy friction. Jack pulled back a bit, hooked his hands under Daniel's knees, and lifted them, so he lay open to Jack. He grinned at Daniel before dropping his head down again and sucking Daniel's cock into his hot mouth. Daniel cried out and seized the sheets. "Oh, fuck," he moaned, and Jack licked him lewdly before saying, "You bet I will." 

Daniel began to laugh. 

* * *

The darkness drops again; but now I know  
That twenty centuries of stony sleep  
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,  
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,  
Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?  
\-- William Yeats, "The Second Coming" 

* * *

Written: December 28, 2001 - February 23, 2002  
Revised: March 10, 2002 


End file.
